


Wiccan or Wizarding? Part 2

by BroDan



Series: Charmed/Harry Potter [2]
Category: Charmed (TV 1998), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Boys In Love, Charmed References, F/M, Friendship/Love, Harry Potter References, I am not good at summary, I hope you are not mad at me, I may be left something important, I will edit frequently, Inspired by Charmed, Inspired by Fanart, Inspired by Harry Potter, Love Confessions, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Fandoms Not Mentioned in Tags, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, So you will find the story has changed a little bit, Tags Are Hard, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, There is no closing door...again, amateur writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 71,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28593165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroDan/pseuds/BroDan
Summary: Drew went back to Hogwarts for his second year. The golden quartet (including Drew) have to face an evil being.[Read part 1 first]
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s), Hermione Granger/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Charmed/Harry Potter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095974
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

It had been already two months since the last time Drew had heard from Harry when they parted on King's Cross. Drew was worried about Harry.

Drew had written him a bunch of letters, but Cuddles, Drew's screech-owl, always came back empty-handed, I mean, empty-clawed.

"Hey, pal. How's it going with you?" asked Chris to his son. "I'm not sure," said Drew. "Lately, I've been trying to reach out for Harry by writing him letters," "Have you try calling him instead?" "Yeah, didn't work either," "Don't worry, Drew. He must be busy or something," said Chris as he hugged his son.

Suddenly, an owl flew from the window with a letter on it's claw. The letter dropped on Drew's lap. Drew opened it and hoped it was from Harry but it was just a letter from Hogwarts. It wrote:

_**SECOND YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:** _

_**The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk** _

_**Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart** _

_**Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart** _

_**Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart** _

_**Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart** _

_**Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart** _

_**Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart** _

_**Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart** _

"Ughhhh, someone must be a fan of Lockhart," said Drew, sounding irritated. "You know him?" "Of course, he is one of the famous writer in The Wizarding World, even Grandma Piper read his book,"

"She did?" asked Chris. "Yes, don't you notice her holding his book all the time,"

"No, I haven't," said Chris. Then, they turned around to see Piper was walking down the stairs, holding a book— _Year with the Yeti_.

"You were saying?" said Drew as he raised an eyebrow at his Dad. "Er—by the way, why do you hate him so much?"

"I had read ' _Break with a Banshee_ ' and the banshee in the book was completely different from the banshee that we had encountered,"

"It's just a book, Drew, you don't have to make a big deal out of it," said Chris as the phone rang.

"I get it," said Drew as he grabbed the phone. "Hello, who is this?" "It's me, Hermione," "Her-Hermione, h-hi," Hermione giggled. "I called you because I want to talk about Harry. Did he wrote any letter to you?" "No, wait, you too?" "Yeah, apparently," said Hermione. "I hope he is okay," "Don't worry, luv-"

' _Did I just call her_ _'luv'_ '

"-I mean, goodbye, Hermione," Drew hung up and groaned. "Ooohh, you couldn't talk very well with your girlfriend, how romantic," teased Chris. "Dad, it's not the time, ok," "Is it wrong for me to cheer you up?"

Suddenly, a voice can be heard, it was Drew's younger brother, Dylan, this year is his first year in Hogwarts.

"Dad, we have to go to the Diagon Alley to buy my school things," said Dylan, walking down the stairs. "Today?"

Drew and Dylan nodded. "Well, let's go then," "What, how?" asked Drew. The other two looked at Drew. "Orbing of course, have you forgotten that you are part whitelighter?" said Chris, raising his eyebrows.

"Sorry, because of what's happening, my brain is not working properly," "Apology accepted, well, c'mon. Chop Chop." said Chris as they orbed to the Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	2. The Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quartet explored the wonder of the Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like it, kudos it, bookmark it and comment it down below.

Drew, Dylan and their Dad arrived at the Diagon Alley. They saw a lot of people were there. Some of them came here just want to buy Lockhart's book but some of them brought their kids to buy their books, quills, etc. for Hogwarts.

They were walking down the alley and Drew saw Hermione and her parents were there too. 'Oh shit' Drew thought as they were walking towards them. "Drew!" Hermione hugged Drew so tight Drew cannot breathe. "I'm so glad to meet you,"

Dylan giggled. "Who is that?" "Oh, that's my brother, Dylan. Dylan, this is my best friend, Hermione." They shook each others hand.

"No wonder she became your girlfriend, she's beautiful," whispered Dylan to Drew. "No, she's not my girlfriend," whispered Drew. "There's no point denying it, she IS your girlfriend,"

The adults were talking about the 'adult' stuff while Drew, Dylan and Hermione were talking about Hogwarts.

The Grangers wanted to turn their London currency into Galleons as The Halliwells wanted to go to Gringotts to take some money out of their vaults. When they climbed the steps, they saw Harry and Hagrid. “Harry! Harry! Over here!” shouted Hermione.

Harry looked up and saw Hermione and Drew standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her.

“What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid—Oh, it’s wonderful to see you two again—Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?” "As soon as I’ve found the Weasleys,” said Harry. “Yeh won’t have long ter wait,” Hagrid said with a grin.

Harry, Drew and Hermione looked around; sprinting up the crowded street were Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley. “Harry,” Mr. Weasley panted. “We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far…”

He mopped his glistening bald patch. “Molly’s frantic—she’s coming now—” “Where did you come out?” Ron asked. “Knockturn Alley,” said Hagrid grimly.

“Excellent!” said Fred and George together. “We’ve never been allowed in,” said Ron enviously. “I should ruddy well think not,” growled Hagrid.

Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other. “Oh, Harry—oh, my dear—you could have been anywhere—”

Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn’t managed to beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry’s glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new.

“Well, gotta be off,” said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley (“Knockturn Alley! If you hadn’t found him, Hagrid!”). “See yer at Hogwarts!” And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

“Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?” Harry asked Ron, Drew and Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps. “Malfoy and his father.”

“Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?” said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them. “No, he was selling—” “So he’s worried,” said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. “Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something…”

“You be careful, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. “That family’s trouble. Don’t go biting off more than you can chew.”

“So you don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?” said Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione’s parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them.

“But you’re Muggles!” said Mr. Weasley delightedly. “We must have a drink! What’s that you’ve got there? Oh, you’re changing Muggle money. Molly, look!” He pointed excitedly at the ten pound notes in Mr. Granger’s hand.

“Meet you back here,” Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Harry were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin driven carts that sped along miniature train tracks through the bank’s underground tunnels.

Drew enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys’ vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened.

There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag.

Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag.

However, Harry is not the only one; Drew's vault had twenty thousands galleons which he got from Mr. Olivander last year. He felt very bad for the Weasleys.

Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill.

Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a secondhand robe shop.

Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

“We’ll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your school books,” said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. “And not one step down Knockturn Alley!” she shouted at the twins’ retreating backs.

Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street.

The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully in Harry and Drew's pocket was clamoring to be spent, so Harry bought three large strawberry and peanut butter ice creams and Drew bought a chocolate smoothie, an egg tart and an Americano which they slurped/drank/eat happily as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating shop windows.

Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door.

In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet Start, No Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power.

“A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,” Ron read aloud off the back cover. “That sounds fascinating “Go away,” Percy snapped. “Course, he’s very ambitious, Percy, he’s got it all planned out… he wants to be Minister of Magic…” Ron told Harry, Drew and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it.

An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

**_GILDEROY LOCKHART_ **

**_will be signing copies of his autobiography_ **

**_MAGICAL ME_ **

**_today 12.30—4.30_ **

“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squealed. “I mean, he’s written almost the whole booklist!”

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley’s age. A harassed looking wizard stood at the door, saying, “Calmly, please, ladies… Don’t push, there… mind the books, now…”

Harry, Drew, Ron and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

“Oh, there you are, good,” said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. “We’ll be able to see him in a minute…”

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd.

The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget me not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard’s hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

“Out of the way, there,” he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. “This is for the Daily Prophet—” “Big deal,” said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron and then he saw Harry and Drew. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, “It can’t be Harry Potter and Drew Halliwell?”

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Drew's and Harry’s arm, and pulled them to the front.

It looked like the news about Drew saved Mr. Olivander from a warlock had spread throughout the year. 

The crowd burst into applause. Drew and Harry’s face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys. “Nice big smile, Harry, Drew,” said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. “Together, you two and I are worth the front page.”

When he finally let go of their hand, they could hardly feel their fingers. They tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around their shoulders and clamped them tightly to his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly, waving for quiet. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!

“When young Harry and Drew here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography—which I shall be happy to present them now, free of charge—” The crowd applauded again.

“They had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. They and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

The crowd cheered and clapped as Harry and Drew found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Drew instinctively raised his hand and everyone in the shop except Harry and The Halliwells froze. 

"I can't believe it worked," said Drew, looking surprised. "What's going on?" asked Harry "This is called Molecular Immobilisation, it means I can freeze people, but I never expect it to work, this is my first time doing this,"

Staggering slightly under their weight, they managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.

Drew unfroze the room. The photographers and everyone else do not even realise Harry and Drew were not there as they were busy with Lockhart.

“Drew, next time don't do that,” said Chris in his fatherly tone. “But he's a show off and a bit annoying,” “You have these,” Harry turned to Ginny and mumbled to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. “I’ll buy my own—”

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter, Halliwell?” said a voice Harry and Drew had no trouble recognizing. Harry straightened up and found himself face to face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.

“Famous Harry Potter and Drew Halliwell,” said Malfoy. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.” “Leave them alone, they didn’t want all that!” said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry and Drew. She was glaring at Malfoy.

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend and Halliwell, did you and Granger broke up?” drawled Malfoy.

 _'What, how he could know about Hermione and me.'_ Drew thought.

Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart’s books.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” retorted Malfoy. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Harry, Drew and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.

“Ron!” said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.” “Well, well, well—Arthur Weasley.”

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco’s shoulder, sneering in just the same way. “Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly. “Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy. “All those raids… I hope they’re paying you overtime?”

He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration._

“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny. “We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said. “Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower—”

There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf.

Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Get him, Dad/Mr. Weasley!” from Fred or George and Drew; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, please—please!” cried the assistant, and then, louder than all—

“Break it up, there, gents, break it up—” Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart.

Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_. He was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

“Here, girl—take your book—it’s the best your father can give you—” Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

“Yeh should’ve ignored him, Arthur,” said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. “Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that—no Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter—bad blood, that’s what it is—come on now—let’s get outta here.”

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them leaving, but he barely came up to Hagrid’s waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.

“A fine example to set for your children… brawling in public… what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought…”

“He was pleased,” said Fred. “Didn’t you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he’d be able to work the fight into his report—said it was all publicity—”

But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys, and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder.

They said good bye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other side and the Halliwells, who will orb to their home; Mr. Weasley started to ask the Grangers how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on Mrs. Weasley’s face.

Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo powder and The Halliwells orbed to the Halliwell Manor.


	3. The Missing Duo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Drew boarded the train without Harry and Ron. Drew met new friends along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

The end of the summer came rather quickly and Drew and Dylan were excited they will finally go/go back to Hogwarts.

"Drew! Drew! Wake up!" It was Dylan. He had a pair of beautiful brown eyes, and dirty-blonde hair. He also had a handsome round face. In his old school, many girls fancied him so he was quite popular in school.

He was trying to wake his older brother up. "Five more minutes, please," said Drew half-asleep. Then, Dylan changed into a rat and went inside Drew's PJ.

Dylan's powers included sensing, orbing, minor healing and changing into any animal whenever he wanted to. When Dylan became the hider in hide and seek. He always change into a cat and hide in his closet.

"HA! Ha! hA! Stop it, please! Ok, ok, I will wake up," Dylan came out and changed back into his body. "You sure was an annoying little brother," "Can't help it, Drew. Get ready, we will be late,"

After Drew took a shower and change into his Gucci T-shirt and trousers, he went downstairs and saw his Dad and brother were waiting downstairs.

"Ready to go?" asked Chris "Where is everyone else?" asked Drew. "Oh, your Aunt Mel just went to the Ministry a minute ago and your grandparents were going out on a vacation in Hawaii," "What about Uncle Wyatt?" "I don't know, he said he is busy with something,"

Suddenly, Dylan bursted out, "C'mon! Time is golden, you know!" "Jeez, you don't have to be mean about it," said Drew as they orbed to King's Cross with their suitcases.

There were a lot of people making their way to the train. Drew and Dylan said goodbye to their Dad and boarded the train.

"Go make yourself some friends, Dylan, I will find my friends," "Ok..." said Dylan as he left.

Drew was searching for Harry, Ron and Hermione in every compartment. Drew even found a sixth year Hufflepuff and a fifth year Ravenclaw snogging. Fortunately, the lovebirds didn't notice him.

After a long search, he found Hermione in one of the compartment. "Hermione!" "Drew, you're here!" said Hermione as Drew sat down next to Hermione.

"Where's Ron and Harry?" "I don't know, I saw the Weasleys passed the barrier but I didn't see Harry and Ron came out," "I hope they were ok,"

The train had passed the woods and now paddy fields can be seen outside. Hermione was reading a book while Drew was sleeping. It was quiet without Harry and Ron.

Drew was still sleeping peacefully until Hermione woke him up. "What?" "Look outside!" said Hermione as they saw a car was flying above the train. "What on earth is that!" "I'm not pretty sure,"

They saw the car flying through the clouds and disappeared. "Strange," said Hermione and Drew. Then, Hermione continued reading her book and Drew was practicing his Transfiguration since he was awake. Hermione helped him of course.

"Well, well, well. Let's see here, Halliwell and Granger. Isn't that sweet?" said Malfoy, who was followed by his two bodyguards.

"I didn't have the mood right now, Malfoy, leave us alone," said Drew. Malfoy didn't move at all. "Or what?" said Malfoy, smirking. Drew's eye suddenly turned black. "L. E. A. V. E." said Drew darkly.

With that, Malfoy and his little monkeys ran away. "How did you do that?" "I learned that from my uncle," said Drew casually. "What? Are you afraid of me?" "Yes, a little bit," Drew chuckled. "Sorry I scared you,"

After a few hours, they had arrived at Hogwarts. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to the platform.

Then they heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! Hermione! Drew! Where's Harry and Ron?" Both of them shrugged. "That's weird. I hope they 're not in trouble. C'mon, follow me, any more firs' years? Firs' years follow me!"

Drew saw Dylan and Ginny walking together. "Hi, Dylan. Hi, Ginny.” She waved her hand. “Ginny, have you seen your brother anywhere?" Ginny shook her head shyly.

"Firs' years! Any more firs' years?" Hagrid continued "See you at the Great Hall," said Drew as he and Hermione were heading towards the carriages.

They went to sit in one of the carriage. They saw three people were already in there. One of them was Neville.

"Neville, long time no see," said Drew casually. "Hi, Drew. Hi, Hermione," Drew saw the other two person. "Who are you two?" "Oh, I'm Cedric Diggory," he held out his hand and everyone shook it.

  
"And I'm Peter Parker (He is Tom Holland version)," said the other boy shyly. "Are you American?" asked Drew, noticing Peter's American accent. "Yes, I had been moved from Ilvermony to Hogwarts because my parents have business in London,"

"You're a muggleborn, Peter?" asked Neville. "What's a muggleborn?" "A magical person with non-magical parents," said Hermione. "So, yes, I'm a muggleborn," Drew noticed that Peter's face turned red when Hermione talked.

"Which house are you in, Peter?" asked Hermione. "Horned Serpent," said Peter, still blushing. "So, Peter is in Slytherin then," said Neville, looking bewildered. "No, Neville. The Horned Serpent represents the mind and favours scholars so Peter is going to be in Ravenclaw,"

"What year are you two?" asked Drew. "Second/Fourth year," said Peter and Cedric.

Now it's Peter's turn to question them, "Who are you two?" "I'm Hermione Granger," "And I'm Drew Halliwell," Peter gasped. "You're th—” “—yeah, yeah, I'm one of the descendant of the Charmed Ones." Peter turned red as a rose. "Peter, I'm not angry at you, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings," "It's fine,"

After they had arrived, they dropped off the carriage and headed to the castle. They saw the ceiling was full of floating candles when they were in the Great Hall just like last year.

Drew did not listen to the hat's singing nor the Sorting Ceremony until he heard:

"Halliwell, Dylan!"

Drew heard whispers about Dylan just like last year when his name was being called. "Another Halliwell?" "Merlin, now there are two Halliwells in Hogwarts," Dylan walked to the hat calmly and after a few seconds, the hat shouted:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor house cheered. As Dylan was walking to the Gryffindor table, they heard Professor Mcgonagall said:

"Weasley, Ginerva!"

She got sort to Gryffindor. She sat next to Dylan and he was blushing as heck "Oohhhh, you got a girlfriend," Drew whispered. "Shut up,"

After the Ceremony, the feast had started. Laughters and chatting can be heard. However, something was buzzing Drew. Where is Harry and Ron?

Drew touched his pockets and found out his notebook are missing. _'Oh shit, shit, shit'_ Drew thought.

Drew always put his notebook in his pocket. His Dad had told him to put his notebook in his suitcase before Drew go to Hogwarts just in case something like this happened.

Then, he heard someone calling him. "Is this yours?" It was Cedric. He was holding Drew's notebook. "I found this on the ground when you were coming down from the carriage," said Cedric as he handed the notebook to Drew. "Thank you so much, Cedric," "Just call me Ced," "If it is fine with you," "Of course," said Cedric warmly as he was heading back to the Hufflepuff's table.

Drew then saw Professor Snape came in with a smile on his face. He whispered something to Professor McGonagall.

Her face first went pale then turned red as if a volcano will blow up. They walked out of the Great Hall. Dumbledore also excused himself and exited the hall.

After a few minutes, they were back. Snape's smile was not there anymore. They were talking about something but Drew caught a word:

Potter

They heard rumors about Harry and Ron were going to be expelled. Drew and Hermione were worried about them. "Ok, let's be rational," said Hermione. "If Harry and Ron were going to be expelled, Snape would be thrilled," "Yeah, he looked like he would go on a vacation,"

Eventually, the feast ended and the first years were guided by Percy Weasley, who is a perfect. Hermione and Ron were following behind them.

Apparently, they bumped into Peter. "Peter, what are you doing here? Ravenclaw's common room is that way," said Hermione. "Oh, I'm sorry," said Peter, blushing again. "You guys, I heard about your friends, Harry Potter and....Ron Weasley, isn't it? They said the two of them were going to be expelled," "Don't trust that lie," said Drew confidently, hoping that what he said was true. "Oh, ok then," said Peter as he went to Ravenclaw's common room.

Then, they saw Harry and Ron were standing in front of the Fat Lady. "Harry! Ron!" The both of them turned to see Hermione and Drew were dashing toward them.

“There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumors—someone said you’d been expelled for crashing a flying car!” scolded Hermione as Drew hugged Harry and Ron.

“Well, we haven’t been expelled,” Harry assured her. “You’re not telling me you did fly here?” said Hermione, sounding almost as severe as Professor McGonagall. “Skip the lecture,” said Ron impatiently, “and tell us the new password.” “It’s ‘wattlebird,’” said Hermione impatiently, “but that’s not the point—”

Her words were cut short, however, as the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open and there was a sudden storm of clapping.

It looked as though the whole of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room, standing on the lopsided tables and squashy armchairs, waiting for them to arrive.

Arms reached through the portrait hole to pull Harry and Ron inside, leaving Hermione and Drew to scramble in after them.

“Brilliant!” yelled Lee Jordan. “Inspired! What an entrance! Flying a car right into the Whomping Willow, people’ll be talking about that one for years—”

“Good for you,” said a fifth year Harry had never spoken to; someone was patting him on the back as though he’d just won a marathon; Fred and George pushed their way to the front of the crowd and said together, “Why couldn’t we’ve come in the car, eh?”

Ron was scarlet in the face, grinning embarrassedly, but Drew could see one person who didn’t look happy at all.

Percy was visible over the heads of some excited first years, and he seemed to be trying to get near enough to start telling them off.

Harry nudged Ron in the ribs and nodded in Percy’s direction. Ron got the point at once.

“Got to get upstairs—bit tired, Drew, c'mon,” he said, "Good night, Hermione," said Drew and the three of them started pushing their way toward the door on the other side of the room, which led to a spiral staircase and the dormitories.

“Night,” Harry called back to Hermione, who was wearing a scowl just like Percy’s.

They managed to get to the other side of the common room, still having their backs slapped (yes, including Drew) and gained the peace of the staircase.

They hurried up it, right to the top, and at last reached the door of their old dormitory, which now had a sign on it saying **SECOND YEARS**.

They entered the familiar, circular room, with its five four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. Their trunks had been brought up for them and stood at the ends of their beds.

Ron grinned guiltily at Harry. “I know I shouldn’t’ve enjoyed that or anything, but—”

The dormitory door flew open and in came the other second year Gryffindor boys, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom.

“Unbelievable!” beamed Seamus. “Cool,” said Dean. “Amazing,” said Neville, awestruck. Harry couldn’t help it. He grinned, too. _'I think this year is going to be great,'_ thought Drew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	4. Gilderoy Lockhart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quartet learnt DADA with the fraud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

The next day, Drew felt something had changed. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall.

The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray).

Harry, Drew and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug.

There was a slight stiffness in the way she said “Morning,” which told Harry that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived.

Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully. Neville was a round faced and accident prone boy with the worst memory of anyone Drew had ever met. “Mail’s due any minute—I think Gran’s sending a few things I forgot.”

Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd.

A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville’s head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into Hermione’s jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

“Errol!” said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak. "Is this your owl?" asked Drew.

“Actually, it's my family owl—Oh, no—” Ron gasped. “It’s all right, he’s still alive,” said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger. “It’s not that—it’s that.”

Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Harry and Drew, but Ron and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.

“What’s the matter?” said Harry. “She’s—she’s sent me a Howler,” said Ron faintly. “You’d better open it, Ron,” said Neville in a timid whisper. “It’ll be worse if you don’t. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and”—he gulped—“it was horrible.”

Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope. “What’s a Howler?” he said. But Ron’s whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners. Seeing this make Drew did not want to know the meaning of the Howler even more.

“Open it,” Neville urged. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes—”

Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol’s beak, and slit it open. Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears.

A split second later, Harry and Drew knew why. They thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

“—STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE—”

Mrs. Weasley’s yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls.

People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

Drew summoned a pair of cotton and put them in his ears. However, it did not work, Mrs. Wesley's yells was much louder than a hundred banshees.

“—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED—”

Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up. He tried very hard to look as though he couldn’t hear the voice that was making his eardrums throb.

“—ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED—YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.”

A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron’s hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes.

Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed _Voyages with Vampires_ and looked down at the top of Ron’s head. “Well, I don’t know what you expected, Ron, but you—”

“Don’t tell me I deserved it,” snapped Ron. "But I must admire your mother, though. If she can sing well enough, she can do opera in front of the whole world," said Drew, trying to cheer Harry and Ron up.

Harry pushed his porridge away. His insides were burning with guilt. Mr. Weasley was facing an inquiry at work. Drew felt really bad for them.

But Drew knew he had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out course schedules.

Drew took his and saw that they had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first.

Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept.

At least the Howler had done one good thing: Hermione seemed to think they had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly again.

As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout.

Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Professor Sprout’s arms were full of bandages. Drew spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.

He guessed that Professor Sprout did that to the Whomping Willow and accidentally hurt herself.

Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes.

Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.

“Oh, hello there!” he called, beaming around at the assembled students. “Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels…”

“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.

There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before—greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants.

Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Drew caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrellasized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Ron, Harry and Hermione inside when Lockhart’s hand shot out.

“Harry! Drew! I’ve been wanting a word—you don’t mind if they're a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?”

Judging by Professor Sprout’s scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, “That’s the ticket,” and closed the greenhouse door in her face.

“Harry,” said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. Then, he turned his head to Drew. "Drew,"

Completely nonplussed, Harry and Drew. said nothing. “When I heard—well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself.”

The two young boys had no idea what he was talking about. Harry was about to say so when Lockhart went on, “Don’t know when I’ve been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you’d done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry.”

It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn’t talking. "Drew, you vanquished a lot of demons, right?" Before Drew could answer, Lockhart continued talking, "Ahh, felt good when you had save the world from the hands of evil. Drew, Drew, Drew,"

“Gave you a taste for publicity, didn’t I?” said Lockhart. “Gave you the bug. You got onto the front page of the paper with me and you two couldn’t wait to do it again.”

“Oh, no, Professor, see—” “Harry, Harry, Harry,” said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. “I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you’ve had that first taste—and I blame myself for giving you that, because it was bound to go to your head—but see here, young man, you can’t start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you’re older. Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking! ‘It’s all right for him, he’s an internationally famous wizard already!’

“But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I’d say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven’t they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!”

He glanced at the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead. “I know, I know—it’s not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row, as I have—but it’s a start, Harry, it’s a start.”

He then turned to Drew, "Drew, you and I can travel the whole world together by ' _ording_ ', I can sell my books worldwide."

Drew just want to correct his little mistake when he said, "Too bad I can't do it now, you must stay here to study magic, potions and stuff. But it's also a start,"

He gave Harry and Drew a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood stunned for a few seconds and Drew was disgusted by Lockhart's action, then, remembering they were supposed to be in the greenhouse, Harry opened the door and they slid inside.

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different colored ear muffs were lying on the bench.

When Harry and Drew had taken their place between Ron and Hermione, she said, “We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

To nobody’s surprise, Hermione’s hand was first into the air. “Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,” said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. “It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Gryffindor,” said Professor Sprout. “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

This time Drew raised his hand before Hermione which made her frowned. “The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,” he said promptly. “Precisely. Take another ten points,” said Professor Sprout. “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.”

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows.

“Everyone take a pair of earmuffs,” said Professor Sprout. There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn’t pink and fluffy.

“When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered,” said Professor Sprout. “When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs up. Right—earmuffs on.”

Drew snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Drew almost puke when he saw a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible.

Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs up, and removed her own earmuffs.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet,” she said calmly as though she’d just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. “However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

“Four to a tray—there is a large supply of pots here—compost in the sacks over there—and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.”

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a curly haired Hufflepuff boy Drew had never spoken to.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand. “Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter… And you’re Hermione Granger—always top in everything…” (Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too) “and there's Drew Halliwell, an heir of a Charmed One.... and Ron Weasley. Wasn’t that your flying car?” Ron didn’t smile. The Howler was obviously still on his mind.

“That Lockhart’s something, isn’t he?” said Justin happily as they began filling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. “Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I’d have died of fear if I’d been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and—zap—just fantastic.

"Hmmm, that's weird. My grandmother also had been cornered in a telephone booth by a Wendigo before," "Wendigo?" said Harry curiously. "It's a similar creature to werewolves," "Maybe that was just a coincidence," said Justin.

“My name was down for Eton, you know. I can’t tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart’s books I think she’s begun to see how useful it’ll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family…”

After that they didn’t have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn’t.

The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth, but didn’t seem to want to go back into it either.

They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth but Drew only spent a minute squashing a particularly fat one into a pot.

Some of them looked at Drew in awe. But honestly, Drew's hand was hurting so much just like everyone else.

By the end of the class, Drew, also like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone went back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall’s classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. However, Drew and Hermione still remembered everything what they had learned last year.

Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed Spellotape, because he accidentally broke his wand while they crashed Mr. Weasley's car.

It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten eggs.

Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn’t pleased.

Drew was glad to hear the lunch bell. He was very hungry. While breakfast, Drew just ate a tuna sandwich and a cup of milk.

Everyone filed out of the classroom except him, Harry and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk. “Stupid—useless—thing—”

“Write home for another one,” Harry suggested as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker. “Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back,” said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag. “It’s your own fault your wand got snapped—” "C'mon, guys. I am starving I could eat a horse." said Drew.

They went down to lunch, where Ron’s mood was not improved by Hermione’s showing them the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration.

“What’ve we got this afternoon?” said Harry, hastily changing the subject. “Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Hermione at once.

“Why,” demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, “have you outlined all Lockhart’s lessons in little hearts?” Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously. Drew chuckled and she hit Drew's head with one of her books.

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in _Voyages with Vampires_ again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes while Drew and Peter were talking about their lives under a tree. They found out that they had the same interests.

"Really? You favorite colour is red?!" said Peter. "Yeah, I found it so—" "Warm," said Peter and Drew in unison and laughed. "What's your favourite food?" "Aunt May's Cherry Pie, the best pie that I ever had, what about you?" "Grandmother Piper's ice cream cake, c’est un dessert absolu, that means 'it's an absolute dessert' in French," "Woah, you can speak French too?!" "I can speak any language, my dear," "What about Welsh?" "Ie, Peter," "Uhhh, Chinese?" "华语是我最会的," "Hmmm, Italian!" "Naturalmente," "Woah, you really can speak any language,"

They were chatting and laughing until they heard a familiar voice. “Everyone line up!” It was Malfoy. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!” “No, I’m not,” said Harry angrily, his fists clenching. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

“You’re just jealous,” piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe’s neck. “Jealous?” said Malfoy, who didn’t need to shout anymore: half the courtyard was listening in. “Of what? I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.”

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly. “Eat slugs, Malfoy,” said Ron angrily. Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

“Be careful, Weasley,” sneered Malfoy. “You don’t want to start any trouble or your Mommy’ll have to come and take you away from school.” He put on a shrill, piercing voice. “If you put another toe out of line—”

A knot of Slytherin fifth years nearby laughed loudly at this. “Malfoy,” called Drew calmly. Malfoy flinched as he saw Drew. “I suggest you Slytherins to leave us alone,” “Or what?” Drew's eyes turned black and it was now windy. “ **L. E. A. V. E. T. H. E. M. A. L. O. N. E.** ”

“What’s all this, what’s all this?” Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos?” Drew's eyes turned back to its normal colour.

Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, “Shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!”

"Drew!" called Lockhart as he saw Drew was hiding behind Peter. "Drew, my boy, Come here. Let's take a picture,"

Pinned to Lockhart’s side and burning with humiliation, Harry and Drew saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd.

“Come on then, Mr. Creevey,” said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. “A double portrait, can’t do better than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.”

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

“Off you go, move along there,” Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry and Drew, Harry looked at Drew and he was wishing he knew a good Vanishing Spell, still clasped to his side.

“A word to the wise, Harry, Drew,” said Lockhart paternally as they entered the building through a side door. “I covered up for you back there with young Creevey—if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won’t think you’re setting yourself up so much…”

Deaf to Harry and Drew’s stammers, Lockhart swept them down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.

“Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn’t sensible—looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you’ll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but”—he gave a little chortle—“I don’t think you’re quite there yet..... you too, Drew,”

_'What! I didn't even ask for Colin to take my pictures,'_

They had reached Lockhart’s classroom and he let Harry and Drew go at last. Harry and Drew yanked their robes straight and headed for a seat at the very back of the class, where they busied himself with piling all seven of Lockhart’s books in front of them, so that they could avoid looking at the real thing.

The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron and Hermione sat down on either side of Harry and Drew.

“You could’ve fried an egg on your face” said Ron. “You’d better hope Creevey doesn’t meet Ginny, or they’ll be starting a Harry Potter fan club.” “Shut up,” snapped Harry and Ron turned to Drew. “And y—” “Don't,” said Drew sternly.

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom’s copy of _Travels with Trolls_ , and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

“Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award—but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly. “I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books—well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about—just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in—”

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, “You have thirty minutes—start—now!” Drew looked down at his paper and read:

_1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?_

_2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?_

_3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest_   
_achievement to date?_

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

_54\. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would HIS ideal gift be?_

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. “Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year with the Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully—I clearly state in Chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non magic peoples—though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

Then, he looked at Drew's paper. “What is this!” He showed Drew's paper to everyone.

_ 1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color? _

_ Brown because you're a shit. _

_ 2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition? _

_ Be a jerk. _

_ 3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest _   
_ achievement to date? _

_The first time he shitted his diaper._

Everybody laughed so hard except Lockhart and Hermione. “Mr. Halliwell!” shouted Lockhart. This is the first time Drew heard Lockhart used his last name. “I expect more from you, five points from Gryffindor,” “I don't care,”

Then, he froze Lockhart. He took his paper and changed his answers into the right answers. Five minutes later, he put the paper back into Lockhart's hand. Later, he took out his wand and casted:

“ _Obliviate_ ,”

Lockhart was unfrozen. He looked dumbfounded and said, “What did I said just now?” “That you are going to give Gryffindor fifty points because I have full marks on the quiz,” He looked at Drew's paper and remembered what he was doing. “Excellent! Indeed fifty points to Gryffindor,”

He gave them another roguish wink. Everyone except Hermione was now staring at Drew with an expression of admiration on their faces; Hermione looked at Drew in disbelief and she said, “Professor, actually Drew—”

Hermione was going to told Lockhart the truth when she saw Drew gave her a pair of puppy eyes. Drew looked at her innocently. “Yes, Miss Granger?” “That.....” Drew's puppy eyes haven't move, he still looked at Hermione. “That.... Drew is an excellent student,” “Execellent indeed,”

“Thank you for not telling him, Hermione,” said Drew as he winked at her. Hermione rolled her eyes. Then, she continued listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

“…Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair care potions—good girl! In fact—” he flipped her paper over “—full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”

Hermione raised a trembling hand. “Excellent!” beamed Lockhart. “Quite excellent! Take another fifty points for Gryffindor! And so—to business—”

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. “Now—be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”

Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Neville was cowering in his front row seat. “I must ask you not to scream,” said Lockhart in a low voice. “It might provoke them.”

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover. “Yes,” he said dramatically. “Freshly caught Cornish pixies.”

Seamus Finnigan couldn’t control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn’t mistake for a scream of terror. “

Yes?” He smiled at Seamus. “Well, they’re not—they’re not very—dangerous, are they?” Seamus choked. “Don’t be so sure!” said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing.

The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

“Right, then,” Lockhart said loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opened the cage. It was pandemonium.

The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air.

Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino.

One of them was flying towards Drew. He raised his hand and suddenly a shot of lightning came out from his hands. “Woah, electric element,” said Drew and he kept shooting his lightning at the pixies.

The troublemakers grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

“Come on now—round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too.

Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later and saved by Drew as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and said, “Well, I’ll ask you four to just nip the rest of them back into their cage.” He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.

“Can you believe him?” roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear. “He just wants to give us some hands-on experience,” said Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

“Hands on?” said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. “Hermione, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing—”

“Rubbish,” said Hermione. “You’ve read his books—look at all those amazing things he’s done—” “He says he’s done,” Ron muttered. “Maybe he was just a Squib, he can't even cast spells,” “Agreed,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh to English:
> 
> Le Peter=Yes Peter
> 
> Chinese to English:
> 
> 华语是我最会的=I can speak Chinese very well.
> 
> Italian to English:
> 
> Naturalmente=Of course
> 
> ———————————————  
> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	5. Quidditch, Mudblood and Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New problems butted into Drew's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

Harry and Drew spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor.

For Harry, harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry’s schedule. Luckily, Drew were there to orb them both if they bumped into Colin and/or Lockhart.

Hedwig was still angry with Harry about the disastrous car journey and Ron’s wand was still malfunctioning, surpassing itself on Friday morning by shooting out of Ron’s hand in Charms and hitting tiny old Professor Flitwick squarely between the eyes, creating a large, throbbing green boil where it had struck.

So with one thing and another, Harry and Drew was quite glad to reach the weekend.

He, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning. Drew, however, was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked by Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. “What?” said Drew. “I have great news for you,” said Wood.

Drew squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink and gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn’t understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making. “Oliver,” Drew croaked. “Can't you tell me later? I want to go back to sleep,”

“I must tell you now,” said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. “Do you remember Alicia Spinnet?” “Yeah, she is our house's Quidditch Chaser,” said Drew lazily.

“Was our house's chaser,” corrected Oliver. “What?” “She resign a week ago because her parents wouldn't let her play Quidditch anymore,”

Drew realize what Oliver was going to say. “Welcome to the team,” said Oliver as he handed a Quidditch robe to Drew.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no, no,” Drew rejected his offer. “Please, I had asked all Gryffindors and you are the last one that was on my mind,” said Oliver sadly. “But why me?” “You're fast and agile and you're also looked sporty,”

He had a good point, last year when Malfoy threw an apple at Drew, he caught it at once. Drew had no choice but to join the team.

“What about my broom?” “Don't worry, I had told Professor McGonagall to buy you a broom,” “What brand is it?” “Comet Three Sixty, it's one of the latest broom, it is fast enough for you to avoid the players,” said Oliver as Drew's screech-owl, Cuddles, flew in. Its claw had a long package.

“Just in time for the Quidditch practice,” “Quidditch practice?” said Drew as he opened his package. “You sound like this is the first time for you,” said Oliver as he smiled widely. “It is my first time,”

“Oh yeah, can you wake Harry up?” said Oliver before he went to the Quidditch field. “Sure,” “Thanks, meet you on the field in fifteen minutes,” said Oliver.

Drew climbed out of bed and headed towards Harry's bed. “Harry! Harry! Wake up!” called Drew quietly. But Harry was still out cold.

Drew then slapped him. “Drew, what's that for?” “Oliver told me to wake you up, there's a Quidditch practice today,”

“But it's still crack of the dawn,” “Must be part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let’s go,” said Drew casually.

Then, Harry saw a Quidditch robe was on Drew's shoulder and Drew was holding a broom. “Wait a minute, you're on the team?” “Apparently,” Harry was speechless and smiled. 

Yawning and shivering slightly, Harry climbed out of bed and tried to find his Quidditch robes.

When he’d found his scarlet team robes and pulled on his cloak for warmth, Harry and Drew scribbled a note to Ron explaining where they’d gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room.

They had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind them and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand. “I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I’ve got here! I’ve had it developed, I wanted to show you—”

Harry and Drew looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.

A moving, black and white Lockhart was tugging hard on two arms Harry and Drew recognized as their own.

They were pleased to see that their photographic self was putting up a good fight and refusing to be dragged into view.

As Harry and Drew watched, Lockhart gave up and slumped, panting, against the white edge of the picture.

“Will you sign it?” said Colin eagerly. “No,” said Harry flatly, glancing around to check that the room was really deserted. “Sorry, Colin, I’m in a hurry—Quidditch practice—”

He climbed through the portrait hole. “Oh, wow! Wait for me! I’ve never watched a Quidditch game before!” Colin scrambled through the hole after him. “It’ll be really boring,” Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement. “You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren’t you, Harry? Weren’t you?” said Colin, trotting alongside him. “You must be brilliant. I’ve never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is?”

Harry didn’t know how to get rid of him. Although, Colin was not talking about Drew, he was driving Drew crazy. It was like having an extremely talkative talk show. “I don’t really understand Quidditch,” said Colin breathlessly. “Is it true there are four balls? And two of them fly around trying to knock people off their brooms?”

“Yes,” said Harry heavily, resigned to explaining the complicated rules of Quidditch. “They’re called Bludgers. There are two Beaters on each team who carry clubs to beat the Bludgers away from their side. Fred and George Weasley are the Gryffindor Beaters.”

“And what are the other balls for?” Colin asked, tripping down a couple of steps because he was gazing open mouthed at Harry. “Well, the Quaffle—that’s the biggish red one—is the one that scores goals. Three Chasers on each team throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through the goal posts at the end of the pitch—they’re three long poles with hoops on the end.” “Who are the chasers in the team?” “Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and me,” said Drew.

“And the fourth ball—” “is the Golden Snitch,” said Harry, “and it’s very small, very fast, and difficult to catch. But that’s what the Seeker’s got to do, because a game of Quidditch doesn’t end until the Snitch has been caught. And whichever team’s Seeker gets the Snitch earns his team an extra hundred and fifty points.” “And you’re the Gryffindor Seeker, aren’t you?” said Colin in awe. “Yes,” said Harry as they left the castle and started across the dewdrenched grass.

“And there’s the Keeper, too. He guards the goal posts. That’s it, really.”

But Colin didn’t stop questioning Harry all the way down the sloping lawns to the Quidditch field, and Harry only shook him off when they reached the changing rooms; Colin called after Harry in a piping voice, “I’ll go and get a good seat, Harry!” and hurried off to the stands.

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake.

Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy eyed and tousle haired. The Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite them.

“There you are, Harry, Drew, what kept you so long?” said Wood briskly. Everyone turned their attention to Drew when Oliver mentioned his name. “So, Drew Halliwell was on the team, eh,” said Fred.

“He will take Alicia's place as a Chaser,” said Oliver. “Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference…”

Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in different coloured inks.

He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars.

As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley’s head drooped right onto Drew's shoulder and he began to snore.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. Drew tried and failed to concentrate as Wood droned on and on.

“So,” said Wood, at long last, jerking Drew from a wistful fantasy about sleeping for twenty four hours. “Is that clear? Any questions?” “I’ve got a question, Oliver,” said George, who had woken with a start. “Why couldn’t you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?”

Wood wasn’t pleased. “Now, listen here, you lot,” he said, glowering at them all. “We should have won the Quidditch cup last year. We’re easily the best team. But unfortunately—owing to circumstances beyond our control—”

Drew looked at Harry with a sense of guilty on his face. Had Drew saved Harry from the dust being when they were trying to get the Sorcerer's Stone, this will never happen.

Harry was unconscious in the hospital wing for the final match of the previous year, meaning that Gryffindor had been a player short and had suffered their worst defeat in three hundred years.

Wood took a moment to regain control of himself. Their last defeat was clearly still torturing him. “So this year, we train harder than ever before… Okay, let’s go and put our new theories into practice!” Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff legged and still yawning, his team followed.

They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium.

As Harry and Drew walked onto the field, he saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

“Aren’t you finished yet?” called Ron incredulously. “Haven’t even started,” said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. “Wood’s been teaching us new moves.” “Harry, is Oliver always going to be like this?” Harry nodded gloomily. 

He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. This was the first time he actually flew with a broom. It took Drew a few seconds to get the hold of it. 

The cool morning air whipped his face, waking him far more effectively than Wood’s long talk. It felt wonderful to be on the Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George.

“What’s that funny clicking noise?” called Fred as they hurtled around the corner. Drew looked into the stands. Colin was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

“Look this way, Harry! This way!” he cried shrill. “Who’s that?” said Fred. “No idea,” Harry lied, putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.

“What’s going on?” said Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward them. “Why’s that first year taking pictures? I don’t like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program.”

“He’s in Gryffindor,” said Harry quickly. “And he's a first year too,” Drew added. “And the Slytherins don’t need a spy, Oliver,” said George. “What makes you say that?” said Wood testily. “Because they’re here in person,” said George, pointing.

Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands. “I don’t believe it!” Wood hissed in outrage. “I booked the field for today! We’ll see about this!”

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Drew, Fred, and George followed.

“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”

Angelina and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man.

“But I booked the field!” said Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!” “Ah,” said Flint. “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape.” _“I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.”_ “You’ve got a new Seeker?” said Wood, distracted. “Where?”

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike. “Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun.

“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps”—he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives—“sweeps the board with them.”

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

“Oh, look,” said Flint. “A field invasion.” Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

“What’s happening?” Ron asked Harry. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?” He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” said Malfoy, smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.”

Ron gaped, open mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him. “Good, aren’t they?” said Malfoy smoothly. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”

The Slytherin team howled with laughter. “At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” said Hermione sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”

The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered. “No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.

Drew was now very furious at Malfoy. He rolled his sleeves up, then launched himself at Malfoy and punched him continously. “Harry! Help me beat this piece of shit!” called Drew as he gave Malfoy another punch.

It took all six Slytherins to stop Drew from punching Malfoy. Angelina shrieked, “How dare you!”; and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” and pointed it furiously under Flint’s arm at Malfoy’s bloody face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron’s wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

“Ron! Ron! Are you all right?” squealed Hermione. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist.

The Gryffindor were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

“We’d better get him to Hagrid’s, it’s nearest,” said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

“What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can’t you?” Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside them as they left the field.

Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front. “Oooh,” said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. “Can you hold him still, Harry?”

“Get out of the way, Colin!” said Harry angrily. Harry, Drew and Hermione supported Ron out of the stadium and across the grounds toward the edge of the forest.

“Nearly there, Ron,” said Hermione as the gamekeeper’s cabin came into view. “You’ll be all right in a minute—almost there—”

They were within twenty feet of Hagrid’s house when the front door opened, but it wasn’t Hagrid who emerged.

Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of palest mauve today, came striding out. “Quick, behind here/There!” Harry and Drew hissed, dragging Ron behind a nearby bush. Hermione followed, somewhat reluctantly.

“It’s a simple matter if you know what you’re doing!” Lockhart was saying loudly to Hagrid. “If you need help, you know where I am! I’ll let you have a copy of my book. I’m surprised you haven’t already got one—I’ll sign one tonight and send it over. Well, good bye!” And he strode away toward the castle.

Harry waited until Lockhart was out of sight, then pulled Ron out of the bush and up to Hagrid’s front door. They knocked urgently.

Hagrid appeared at once, looking very grumpy, but his expression brightened when he saw who it was. “Bin wonderin’ when you’d come ter see me—come in, come in—thought you mighta bin Professor Lockhart back again—”

Harry, Drew and Hermione supported Ron over the threshold into the one-roomed cabin, which had an enormous bed in one corner, a fire crackling merrily in the other.

Hagrid didn’t seem perturbed by Ron’s slug problem, which Harry hastily explained as he lowered Ron into a chair.

“Better out than in,” he said cheerfully, plunking a large copper basin in front of him. “Get ’em all up, Ron.” “I don’t think there’s anything to do except wait for it to stop,” said Hermione anxiously, watching Ron bend over the basin. “That’s a difficult curse to work at the best of times, but with a broken wand—”

“Are you feeling better?” asked Drew as he pat Ron's back which ended up with Ron belched another five slugs. “Never been better,”

Hagrid was bustling around making them tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering over Harry. “What did Lockhart want with you, Hagrid?” Harry asked, scratching Fang’s ears.

“Givin’ me advice on gettin’ kelpies out of a well,” growled Hagrid, moving a half plucked rooster off his scrubbed table and setting down the teapot. “Like I don’ know. An’ bangin’ on about some banshee he banished. If one word of it was true, I’ll eat my kettle.”

It was most unlike Hagrid to criticize a Hogwarts’ teacher, and Harry looked at him in surprise. Drew was glad he said that.

Hermione, however, said in a voice somewhat higher than usual, “I think you’re being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job—”

“He was the on’y man for the job,” said Hagrid, offering them a plate of treacle fudge, while Ron coughed squelchily into his basin. “An’ I mean the on’y one. Gettin’ very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job. People aren’t too keen ter take it on, see. They’re startin’ ter think it’s jinxed. No one’s lasted long fer a while now. So tell me,” said Hagrid, jerking his head at Ron. “Who was he tryin’ ter curse?”

“Malfoy called Hermione something—it must’ve been really bad, because everyone went wild.” “It was bad,” said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the tabletop looking pale and sweaty. “Malfoy called her ‘Mudblood,’ Hagrid—”

Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance. Hagrid looked outraged. “He didn’!” he growled at Hermione. “He did,” she said. “But I don’t know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course—”

“It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,” gasped Ron, coming back up. “Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born—you know, non magic parents. There are some wizards—like Malfoy’s family—who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re what people call pure blood.”

He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and continued, “I mean, the rest of us know it doesn’t make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom—he’s pure blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up.”

“An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’ do,” said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,” said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. “Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d’ve died out.” He retched and ducked out of sight again.

“Well, I don’ blame yeh fer tryin’ ter curse him, Ron,” said Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. “Bu’ maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. ’Spect Lucius Malfoy would’ve come marchin’ up ter school if yeh’d cursed his son. Least yer not in trouble.”

Drew was still angry at Malfoy that a small, black cloud was floating above Drew.

“Harry, Drew,” said Hagrid abruptly as though struck by a sudden thought. “Gotta bone ter pick with yeh. I’ve heard you’ve bin givin’ out signed photos. How come I haven’t got one?”

Furious, Harry wrenched his teeth apart and Drew's cloud became bigger. “I have not been giving out signed photos,” he said hotly. “If Lockhart’s still spreading that around—” But then he saw that Hagrid was laughing. “I’m only jokin’,” he said, patting Harry and Drew genially on the back and sending them face first into the table.

“I knew yeh hadn’t really. I told Lockhart yeh didn’ need teh. Yer more famous than him without tryin’.” “Bet he didn’t like that,” said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his chin. “Don’ think he did,” said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling.

“An’ then I told him I’d never read one o’ his books an’ he decided ter go. Treacle fudge, Ron?” he added as Ron reappeared. “No thanks,” said Ron weakly. “Better not risk it.” “Come an’ see what I’ve bin growin’,” said Hagrid as Harry and Hermione finished the last of their tea.

In the small vegetable patch behind Hagrid’s house were a dozen of the largest pumpkins Drew had ever seen. Each was the size of a large boulder.

“Gettin’ on well, aren’t they?” said Hagrid happily as Drew opened jaw widely. “Fer the Halloween feast… should be big enough by then.” “What’ve you been feeding them?” said Harry. “Do you use a bunch of fertiliser or what?” said Drew in awe. 

Hagrid looked over his shoulder to check that they were alone. “Well, I’ve bin givin’ them—you know—a bit o’ help—”

Drew and Harry noticed Hagrid’s flowery pink umbrella leaning against the back wall of the cabin. They had reason to believe before now that this umbrella was not all it looked; in fact, they had the strong impression that Hagrid’s old school wand was concealed inside it.

Hagrid wasn’t supposed to use magic. He had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but they had never found out why—any mention of the matter and Hagrid would clear his throat loudly and become mysteriously deaf until the subject was changed.

“An Engorgement Charm, I suppose?” said Hermione, halfway between disapproval and amusement. “Well, you’ve done a good job on them.”

“That’s what yer little sister said,” said Hagrid, nodding at Ron. “Met her jus’ yesterday.” Hagrid looked sideways at Harry, his beard twitching. “Said she was jus’ lookin’ round the grounds, but I reckon she was hopin’ she might run inter someone else at my house.” He winked at Harry. “If yeh ask me, she wouldn’ say no ter a signed—”

“Oh, shut up,” said Harry. Drew giggled loudly while Ron snorted with laughter and the ground was sprayed with slugs. “Watch it!” Hagrid roared, pulling Ron away from his precious pumpkins.

It was nearly lunchtime and as Drew had only had one small bowl of cereal since dawn, he was keen to go back to school to eat.

They said good bye to Hagrid and walked back up to the castle, Ron hiccoughing occasionally, but only bringing up two very small slugs.

They had barely set foot in the cool entrance hall when a voice rang out, “There you are, Potter—Weasley—Halliwell.” Professor McGonagall was walking toward them, looking stern. “You three will do your detentions this evening.” “What did I do, Professor?”asked Drew. “You have punched Malfoy, Mr. Halliwell,” “He deserved it,”

“What’re we doing, Professor?” said Ron, nervously suppressing a burp. “You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch,” said Professor McGonagall. “And no magic, Weasley—elbow grease.”

Ron gulped. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was loathed by every student in the school. “And you, Potter, Halliwell, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail,” said Professor McGonagall. “Hecc naw!” shouted Drew. “Oh no—Professor, can’t we go and do the trophy room, too?” said Harry desperately.

“Certainly not,” said Professor McGonagall, raising her eyebrows. “Professor Lockhart requested you two particularly. Eight o’clock sharp, all three of you.”

Harry, Drew and Ron slouched into the Great Hall in states of deepest gloom, Hermione behind them, wearing a well-you-did-break-school-rules sort of expression.

Drew didn’t enjoy his mac n cheese as much as he’d thought. Harry, Drew and Ron felt they’d got the worse deal.

“Filch’ll have me there all night,” said Ron heavily. “No magic! There must be about a hundred cups in that room. I’m no good at Muggle cleaning.”

“I’d swap anytime,” said Harry hollowly. “I’ve had loads of practice with the Dursleys. Answering Lockhart’s fan mail… he’ll be a nightmare…” “Same. I would rather clean billions of trophies than answering Lockhart's fan mail, even if it's only one.“

Saturday afternoon seemed to melt away, and in what seemed like no time, it was five minutes to eight, and Harry and Drew were dragging their feet along the second floor corridor to Lockhart’s office. They gritted their teeth and knocked.

The door flew open at once. Lockhart beamed down at him. “Ah, here’s the scallywag!” he said. “Come in, Harry and Drew, come in—”

Shining brightly on the walls by the light of many candles were countless framed photographs of Lockhart. He had even signed a few of them. Another large pile lay on his desk.

“You can address the envelopes!” Lockhart told Harry and Drew, as though this was a huge treat. “This first one’s to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her—huge fan of mine—”

The minutes snailed by. Harry and Drew let Lockhart’s voice wash over him, occasionally saying, “Mmm” and “Right” and “Yeah.” Now and then he caught a phrase like, “Fame’s a fickle friend, Harry, Drew,” or “Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that.”

The candles burned lower and lower, making the light dance over the many moving faces of Lockhart watching him.

Drew moved his aching hand over what felt like the thousandth envelope, writing out William Henderson's address. It must be nearly time to leave, Drew thought miserably, please let it be nearly time…

As minutes crept by, Drew became very sleepy. Drew's muscles were slowly relaxed and he did not realize his head was now on Harry's shoulders.

Lockhart had not notice him since he was busy with his fan mail and Harry just let Drew be. He was sleeping with an innocent smile on his face.

Harry thought it was cute to see Drew sleeping like that. He, therefore, put his arm around Drew. 

Suddenly, Drew woke up because of Harry's voice. “What?” Harry said loudly. “I know!” said Lockhart. “Six solid months at the top of the bestseller list! Broke all records!”

“No,” said Harry frantically. “That voice!” “Sorry?” said Lockhart, looking puzzled. “What voice?” “That—that voice that said—didn’t you hear it?” “Harry, are you ok?” asked Drew worriedly.

Lockhart was looking at Harry in high astonishment. “What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you’re getting a little drowsy? Great Scott—look at the time! We’ve been here nearly four hours! I’d never have believed it—the time’s flown, hasn’t it?”

Harry and Drew didn’t answer. Drew was straining his ears to hear what Harry heard, but there was no sound now except for Lockhart telling him he mustn’t expect a treat like this every time he got detention. Feeling dazed, Harry and Drew left.

It was so late that the Gryffindor common room was almost empty. Harry and Drew went straight up to the dormitory.

Ron wasn’t back yet. They pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and waited. Half an hour later, Ron arrived, nursing his right arm and bringing a strong smell of polish into the darkened room.

“My muscles have all seized up,” he groaned, sinking on his bed. “Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. And then I had another slug attack all over a Special Award for Services to the School. Took ages to get the slime off… How was it with Lockhart?”

Keeping his voice low so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Harry told Ron and Drew exactly what he had heard.

“And you and Lockhart said he couldn’t hear it?” said Ron. Drew could see him frowning in the moonlight. “D’you think he was lying? But I don’t get it—even someone invisible would’ve had to open the door.”

“I know,” said Harry, lying back in his four-poster and staring at the canopy above him. “I don’t get it either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	6. Happy Deathday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quartet went to Sir Nicholas's Deathday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle.

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward.

Ginny Weasley, who had been looking pale, was bullied into taking some by Percy. The steam pouring from under her vivid hair gave the impression that her whole head was on fire.

Dylan, who had a cold, also was bullied into taking some by his older brother. It was hard to get him to take that. He changed into a lizard and hid in his dormitory.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

Oliver Wood’s enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry and Drew were to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.

Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn’t been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones.

They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles.

Since Drew started playing Quidditch, Harry and Drew always hang out together. They became really close and always praised each other about their skills on their broom.

One day, Harry and Drew were walking down a hallway when Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, “…don’t fulfill their requirements… half an inch, if that…”

“Hello, Nick/Sir Nicholas,” said Harry and Drew. “Hello, hello,” said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round.

He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and the two boys could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

“You look troubled, young Potter and Halliwell,” said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet. “So do you,” said Harry.

“Ah,” Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, “a matter of no importance… It’s not as though I really wanted to join… Thought I’d apply, but apparently I ‘don’t fulfill requirements.’”

In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face. “But you would think, wouldn’t you,” he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, “that getting hit forty five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?” “Oh—yes,” said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.

Drew half-nodded and half-shrugged. “I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However—” Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously:

_“‘We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements._

_With very best wishes,_   
_Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.’”_

“He sounds like a jerk,” said Drew. Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away. “Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on! Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but oh, no, it’s not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated Podmore.”

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, “So—what’s bothering you? Anything I can do?”

“No,” said Harry. “Not unless you know where we can get seven free Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones for our match against Sly—”

The rest of Harry’s sentence was drowned out by a high pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles. Harry and Drew looked down and found themselves gazing into a pair of lamp like yellow eyes.

It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch, as a sort of deputy in his endless battle against students.

“You two better get out of here,” said Nick quickly. “Filch isn’t in a good mood—he’s got the flu and some third years accidentally plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He’s been cleaning all morning, and if he sees you dripping mud all over the place—”

“We are doomed,” said Drew, backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris with Harry, but not quickly enough.

Drawn to the spot by the mysterious power that seemed to connect them with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Drew's and Harry’s right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rulebreaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

“Filth!” he shouted, his jowls aquiver, his eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy puddle that had dripped from Drew's and Harry’s Quidditch robes. “Mess and muck everywhere! I’ve had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, both of you!”

So Harry and Drew waved a gloomy good bye to Nearly Headless Nick and followed Filch back downstairs, doubling the number of muddy footprints on the floor.

They had never been inside Filch’s office before; it was a place most students avoided. The room was dingy and windowless, lit by a single oil lamp dangling from the low ceiling.

A faint smell of fried fish lingered about the place. Wooden filing cabinets stood around the walls; from their labels, they could see that they contained details of every pupil Filch had ever punished.

Fred and George Weasley had an entire drawer to themselves. A highly polished collection of chains and manacles hung on the wall behind Filch’s desk.

It was common knowledge that he was always begging Dumbledore to let him suspend students by their ankles from the ceiling.

Filch grabbed a quill from a pot on his desk and began shuffling around looking for parchment. “Dung,” he muttered furiously, “great sizzling dragon bogies… frog brains… rat intestines… I’ve had enough of it… make an example… where’s the form… yes…”

He retrieved a large roll of parchment from his desk drawer and stretched it out in front of him, dipping his long black quill into the ink pot.

“Name… Harry Potter. Crime…”

“It was only a bit of mud!” said Harry. “It’s only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it’s an extra hour scrubbing!” shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. “Crime… befouling the castle… suggested sentence…”

Then, he put the same information on Drew's parchment. Drew just kept quiet, suppressing his anger. He knew it will make things worse for Harry and him if he argued with Filch.

Dabbing at his streaming nose, Filch squinted unpleasantly at Harry and Drew who waited with bated breath for his sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle. “PEEVES!” Filch roared, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. “I’ll have you this time, I’ll have you!”

And without a backward glance at the boys, Filch ran flat footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.

Peeves was the school poltergeist, a grinning, airborne menace who lived to cause havoc and distress. Drew had been friendly towards Peeves since he had been helping Drew and his friends so he was feeling grateful for his timing.

Hopefully, whatever Peeves had done (and it sounded as though he’d wrecked something very big this time) would distract Filch from them.

Thinking that he should probably wait for Filch to come back, Harry and Drew sank into a moth eaten chair next to the desk.

There was only one thing on it apart from his half completed form: a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front.

With a quick glance at the door to check that Filch wasn’t on his way back, Harry picked up the envelope and read.

“What is that?” asked Drew. Harry then showed him the envelope and it wrote: Kwikspell—A Correspondence Course in Beginners’ Magic.

Intrigued, Harry and Drew flicked the envelope open and pulled out the sheaf of parchment inside. More curly silver writing on the front page said:

**_Feel out of step in the world of modern magic? Find yourself making excuses not to perform simple spells? Ever been taunted for your woeful wandwork? There is an answer!_ **

**_Kwikspell is an all new, fail safe, quick result, easy learn_ **   
**_course. Hundreds of witches and wizards have benefited from_ **   
**_the Kwikspell method!_ **

**_Madam Z. Nettles of Topsham writes:_ **

**_“I had no memory for incantations and my potions were a family joke! Now, after a Kwikspell course, I am the center of attention at parties and friends beg for the recipe of my Scintillation Solution!”_ **

**_Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says:_ **

**_“My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!”_ **

Fascinated, Harry and Drew thumbed through the rest of the envelope’s contents. Why on earth did Filch want a Kwikspell course? Did this mean he wasn’t a proper wizard?

Harry was just reading _'Lesson One: Holding Your Wand (Some Useful Tips)'_ when shuffling footsteps outside told him Filch was coming back.

Stuffing the parchment back into the envelope, Harry threw it back onto the desk just as the door opened.

Filch was looking triumphant. “That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable!” he was saying gleefully to Mrs. Norris. “We’ll have Peeves out this time, my sweet—”

His eyes fell on Harry and Drew and then darted to the Kwikspell envelope, which, they realized too late, was lying two feet away from where it had started.

Filch’s pasty face went brick red. Harry and Drew braced themselves for a tidal wave of fury. Filch hobbled across to his desk, snatched up the envelope, and threw it into a drawer.

“Have you—did you read—?” he sputtered. “No,” Harry and Drew lied quickly. Filch’s knobbly hands were twisting together. “If I thought you’d read my private—not that it’s mine—for a friend—be that as it may—however—”

Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn’t help.

“Very well—go—and don’t breathe a word—not that—however, if you didn’t read—go now, I have to write up Peeves’ report—go—”

Amazed at their luck, Harry and Drew sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back upstairs. To escape from Filch’s office without punishment was probably some kind of school record.

“Harry! Harry! Did it work?” Nearly Headless Nick came gliding out of a classroom. Behind him, Harry and Drew could see the wreckage of a large black and gold cabinet that appeared to have been dropped from a great height.

“I persuaded Peeves to crash it right over Filch’s office,” said Nick eagerly. “Thought it might distract him—” “Was that you?” said Harry gratefully. “Yeah, it worked, I didn’t even get detention. Thanks, Nick!”

“How can we ever repay you?” said Drew as the two of them noticed Sir Nicholas was still holding Sir Patrick’s rejection letter. “Yeah, I wish there was something we could do for you about the Headless Hunt,” Harry said.

Nearly Headless Nick stopped in his tracks and the boys walked right through him. They wished they hadn’t; it was like stepping through an icy shower.

“But there is something you could do for me,” said Nick excitedly. “Harry—Drew—would I be asking too much—but no, you two wouldn’t want—”

“What is it?” said Harry and Drew. “Well, this Halloween will be my five hundredth deathday,” said Nearly Headless Nick, drawing himself up and looking dignified. “Oh,” said Harry. “Right.” “Should I be happy or sad for you?” asked Drew. “Both,”

“I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course—but I daresay you two rather go to the school feast?” He watched Harry and Drew on tenterhooks.

“No,” said Harry quickly, “Drew and I'll come—” “My dear boy! Harry Potter and Drew Halliwell at my deathday party! And”—he hesitated, looking excited—“do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?”

“Of—of cou—” said Harry. “Nah, I think you are a humble gentleman instead of frightening,” said Drew. Suddenly, Nearly Headless Nick creepily beamed at Drew. “I mean—er—you're creepy?”

“A deathday party?” said Hermione keenly when Harry and Drew had changed at last and joined her and Ron in the common room. “I bet there aren’t many living people who can say they’ve been to one of those—it’ll be fascinating!”

“Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?” said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. “Sounds dead depressing to me…”

Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful.

The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. 

Fred had “rescued” the brilliant orange, fire dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smouldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people.

Harry and Drew were at the point of telling Ron and Hermione about Filch and the Kwikspell course when the salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room.

The sight of Percy bellowing himself hoarse at Fred and George, the spectacular display of tangerine stars showering from the salamander’s mouth, and its escape into the fire, with accompanying explosions, drove both Filch and the Kwikspell envelope from the two boys' mind.

By the time Halloween arrived, Drew was excited to go to the party while Harry was regretting his rash promise to go to the deathday party.

The rest of the school was happily anticipating their Halloween feast; the Great Hall had been decorated with the usual live bats, Hagrid’s vast pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three men to sit in, and there were rumors that Dumbledore had booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for the entertainment.

“A promise is a promise,” Hermione reminded Harry bossily. “You said you’d go to the deathday party.”

So at seven o’clock, Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione walked straight past the doorway to the packed Great Hall, which was glittering invitingly with gold plates and candles, and directed their steps instead toward the dungeons.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick’s party had been lined with candles, too, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet black tapers, all burning bright blue, casting a dim, ghostly light even over their own living faces.

The temperature dropped with every step they took. As Drew shivered and drew his robes tightly around him, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

“Is that supposed to be music?” Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

“My dear friends,” he said mournfully. “Welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…” He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearlywhite, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black draped platform.

A chandelier overhead blazed midnight blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

“Shall we have a look around?” Harry suggested, wanting to warm up his feet. “Careful not to walk through anyone,” said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor.

They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead.

Drew wasn’t surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other Ghosts. They kept exploring until they saw an old woman.

“Grams?” called Drew. “Drew, what are you doing here?” asked Grams as she turned solid and hugged his great-great-grandson. “Celebrating Sir Nicholas's five hundredth deathday, so you know Sir Nicholas?” “We're...close friends,”

“Penny, do you enjoy the party?” said Sir Nicholas as he floated towards Grams. “Of course, Nick, but this party really needs some real entertainment” “Sorry, Penny. Can't do that,”

As Grams and Sir Nicholas kept talking, Harry, Drew, Ron and Hermione continued exploring the dungeon.

“Your...Grams looked like a nice woman, Drew,” said Ron. “Yes, she is but she is very strict too so you don't want to trigger her anger,”

“Oh, no,” said Hermione, stopping abruptly. “Turn back, turn back, I don’t want to talk to Moaning Myrtle—”

“Who?” said Harry as they backtracked quickly. “She haunts one of the toilets in the girls’ bathroom on the first floor,” said Hermione.

“She haunts a toilet?” “Yes. It’s been out of order all year because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it’s awful trying to have a pee with her wailing at you—”

“Look, food!” said Ron. “Ron, don't!” said Drew. On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet.

They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting.

Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar like icing forming the words, **_Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, died 31st October, 1492._**

Drew watched, amazed and disgusted, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

“Can you taste it if you walk though it?” Harry asked him. “Almost,” said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

“I expect they’ve let it rot to give it a stronger flavor,” said Hermione knowledgeably, pinching her nose and leaning closer to look at the putrid haggis. “Hermione, don't say that, you're making me sick,” “Drew's right. Can we move? I feel sick too,” said Ron.

They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them.

“Hello, Peeves,” said Harry cautiously. “Hi, Peeves, how are you?” asked Drew calmly. “I'm doing g-great, sir,”

Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

“Nibbles?” he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus. “No thanks,” said Hermione.

“Heard you talking about poor Myrtle,” said Peeves, his eyes dancing. “Rude you were about poor Myrtle.” He took a deep breath and bellowed, “OY! MYRTLE!” “Oh, no, Peeves, don’t tell her what I said, she’ll be really upset,” Hermione whispered frantically. “I didn’t mean it, I don’t mind her—er, hello, Myrtle.”

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

“What?” she said sulkily. “How are you, Myrtle?” said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. “It’s nice to see you out of the toilet.”

Myrtle sniffed. “Miss Granger was just talking about you—” said Peeves slyly in Myrtle’s ear. “Just saying—saying—how nice you look tonight,” said Hermione, glaring at Peeves.

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously. “You’re making fun of me,” she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her small, see through eyes.

“No—honestly—didn’t I just say how nice Myrtle’s looking?” said Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.

“Oh, yeah—” “She did—” “Don’t lie to me,” Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. “D’you think I don’t know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!” “You’ve forgotten pimply,” Peeves hissed in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, “Pimply! Pimply!”

“Oh, dear,” said Hermione sadly. “Well, honestly is the best policy, right?” said Drew. The other three glared at Drew. “Just saying, jeez,”

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd. “Enjoying yourselves?” “Oh, yes,” they lied. “Not a bad turnout,” said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. “The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent… It’s nearly time for my speech, I’d better go and warn the orchestra…”

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded

“Oh, here we go,” said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly. Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman.

Drew tried to avoid them, her grandmother told him that her head once had decapitated by a headless horseman before.

The assembly clapped wildly; Drew started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick’s face.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn.

The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

“Nick!” he roared. “How are you? Head still hanging in there?” He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.

“Welcome, Patrick,” said Nick stiffly. “Live ’uns!” said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione and giving a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).

“Very amusing,” said Nearly Headless Nick darkly. “Don’t mind Nick!” shouted Sir Patrick’s head from the floor. “Still upset we won’t let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say—look at the fellow—”

“I think,” said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, “Nick’s very—frightening and—er—” “Ha!” yelled Sir Patrick’s head. “Bet he asked you to say that!”

“If I could have everyone’s attention, it’s time for my speech!” said Nearly Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight. “My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow…”

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch.

Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

Drew was holding his anger towards Sir Patrick for so long but he couldn't ruined Sir Nicholas's party. Drew was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.

“I can’t stand much more of this,” Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor. “Let’s go,” Harry agreed.

They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of black candles.

“Pudding might not be finished yet,” said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall. “I was hoping that th—” said Drew halfway as Harry suddenly stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

“Harry, what’re you—?” “It’s that voice again—shut up a minute—” “Listen!” said Harry urgently, and Ron, Drew and Hermione froze, watching him.

Drew hoped he could hear what Harry heard. They just followed Harry. Drew also tried hard to listen for the voice. Shockingly, Drew heard something but it's not clear. “......r....et.....ill.....o....hun....”

“This way,” Harry shouted, and they began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall.

Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Ron, Drew and Hermione clattering behind him.

“Harry, what’re we—” “SHH!” Drew strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and not clear still, he heard the voice:

“.....ell.....od....I...s...b...”

“It’s going to kill someone!” Harry shouted, and ignoring Drew's, Ron’s and Hermione’s bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps—Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron, Drew and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

“Harry, what was that all about?” said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. “I couldn’t hear anything…” Drew tried to tell them that he also heard the voice but Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. “Look!”

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

_**THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HAIR, BEWARE.** _

“What’s that thing—hanging underneath?” said Ron, a slight quiver in his voice.

As they edged nearer, Harry and Drew almost slipped—there was a large puddle of water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed them, and they inched toward the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the caretaker’s cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, they didn’t move. Then Ron said, “Let’s get out of here.” “Shouldn’t we try and help—” Harry began awkwardly. “Trust me,” said Ron. “We don’t want to be found here.”

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet. “Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	7. The History of The Chamber of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quartet later learned about The Chamber of Secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment down below if you like it.

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?” Attracted no doubt by Malfoy’s shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

“My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?” he shrieked. And his popping eyes fell on Harry. “You!” he screeched. “You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll—” “Argus!”

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

“Come with me, Argus,” he said to Filch. “You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Halliwell, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger.”

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. “My office is nearest, Headmaster—just upstairs—please feel free—” “Thank you, Gilderoy,” said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart’s darkened office there was a flurry of movement across the walls; Drew saw several of the Lockharts in the pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers.

The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris on the polished surface and began to examine her.

Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore’s long, crooked nose was barely an inch from Mrs. Norris’s fur. He was looking at her closely through his half moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking.

Professor McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile.

And Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions. “It was definitely a curse that killed her—probably the Transmogrifian Torture—I’ve seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn’t there, I know the very counter curse that would have saved her…”

Lockhart’s comments were punctuated by Filch’s dry, racking sobs. He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris, his face in his hands.

Much as he detested Filch, Drew couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as he felt for Harry: If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would be expelled for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: She continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

“…I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadougou,” said Lockhart, “a series of attacks, the full story’s in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…”

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair net which made Drew chuckled.

At last Dumbledore straightened up. “She’s not dead, Argus,” he said softly. Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of murders he had prevented.

“Not dead?” choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris. “But why’s she all—all stiff and frozen?” “She has been Petrified,” said Dumbledore (“Ah! I thought so!” said Lockhart). “But how, I cannot say…”

“Ask him!” shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to Harry. “No second year could have done this,” said Dumbledore firmly. “it would take Dark Magic of the most advanced—”

“He did it, he did it!” Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. “You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found—in my office—he knows I’m a—I’m a—” Filch’s face worked horribly. “He knows I’m a Squib!” he finished.

“I never touched Mrs. Norris!” Harry said loudly, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at him, including all the Lockharts on the walls. “And I don’t even know what a Squib is.” “What about that Halliwell!” snarled Filch. “Hey! Don't you point your fingers at me, you have no proof!”

“If I might speak, Headmaster,” said Snape from the shadows, and Drew's sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.

“Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said, a slight sneer curling his mouth as though he doubted it. “But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn’t he at the Halloween feast?”

Harry, Drew, Ron and Hermione all launched into an explanation about the deathday party. “…there were hundreds of ghosts, they’ll tell you we were there—”

“But why not join the feast afterward?” said Snape, his black eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Why go up to that corridor?”

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry while Drew was thinking how to explain the situation. “Because—because—” said Harry. “Because we didn't have the appetite after seeing those rotten food so we decided to go back to the common room to go to bed,” said Drew, trying to sound confident. 

“Headmaster, can I try to Legilimens him?” asked Snape with a triumphant smile flickering across his gaunt face.

“Really, Severus,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “I see no reason for you to do that, besides you can't do it without his parents' permissions,”

“It's **A** parent, Professor,” corrected Drew, trying to remind them that his mom had passed away. Drew never tell his friends about his mother and he wanted to keep it that way. “Oh,” said Professor Mcgonagall sadly, regretting what she just said.

Then, Dumbledore was giving Drew a searching look. His twinkling light blue gaze made Drew felt peaceful. “Legilimens is not a joke, Severus, he could get mentally injured so we will believe that he was telling the truth,” he said firmly.

Filch looked furious. “My cat has been Petrified!” he shrieked, his eyes popping. “I want to see some punishment!” “We will be able to cure her, Argus,” said Dumbledore patiently.

“Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made that will revive Mrs. Norris.”

“I’ll make it,” Lockhart butted in. “I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—” “Excuse me,” said Snape icily. “But I believe I am the Potions master at this school.”

There was a very awkward pause. “You may go,” Dumbledore said to Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione.

They went, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart’s office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them.

“What's Legilimens?” asked Drew. “It's a way on how to read someone's mind, only a few wizards and witches can do that,” said Hermione.

Harry squinted at his friends’ darkened faces. “D’you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?” “No,” said Ron, without hesitation. “Hearing voices no one else can hear isn’t a good sign, even in the wizarding world.”

Something in Ron’s voice made Harry ask, “You do believe me, don’t you?” “Course I do,” said Ron quickly. “But—you must admit it’s weird…”

“I know it’s weird,” said Harry. “The whole thing’s weird. What was that writing on the wall about? The Chamber Has Been Opened… What’s that supposed to mean?” “I will check my notebook, maybe it contains some information on the Chamber of Secrets,” said Drew.

“You know, it rings a sort of bell,” said Ron slowly. “I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once… might’ve been Bill…” “And what on earth’s a Squib?” said Harry.

To Drew's surprise, Ron stifled a snigger. “Well—it’s not funny really—but as it’s Filch,” he said. “A Squib is someone who was born into a wizarding family but hasn’t got any magic powers. Kind of the opposite of Muggle-born wizards, but Squibs are quite unusual. If Filch’s trying to learn magic from a Kwikspell course, I reckon he must be a Squib. It would explain a lot. Like why he hates students so much.” Ron gave a satisfied smile. “He’s bitter.”

A clock chimed somewhere. “Midnight,” said Harry. “We’d better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.”

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone’s minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back.

Drew had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower’s All Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone.

When Filch wasn’t guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking redeyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like “breathing loudly’ and “looking happy.”

Ginny Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris’s fate. According to Ron, she was a great cat lover. “But you haven’t really got to know Mrs. Norris,” Ron told her bracingly. “Honestly, we’re much better off without her.”

Ginny’s lip trembled. “Stuff like this doesn’t often happen at Hogwarts,” Ron assured her. “They’ll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I just hope he’s got time to Petrify Filch before he’s expelled. I’m only joking—” Ron added hastily as Ginny blanched.

The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else.

Nor could Harry, Drew and Ron get much response from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.

Harry had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made him stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks.

After a hurried lunch with Harry, they went upstairs to meet Ron in the library, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff boy from Herbology, coming toward them.

Drew noticed when Justin caught sight of them, turned abruptly, and sped off in the opposite direction.

Harry and Drew found Ron at the back of the library, measuring his History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three foot long composition on “The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards.”

“I don’t believe it, I’m still eight inches short…” said Ron furiously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll. “And Hermione’s done four feet seven inches and her writing’s tiny.”

“And I'm one inches short, so I'm almost done,” said Drew, which made Ron more furious. “Where is she anyway?” asked Harry, grabbing the tape measure and unrolling his own homework.

“Somewhere over there,” said Ron, pointing along the shelves. “Looking for another book. I think she’s trying to read the whole library before Christmas.”

Harry and Drew told Ron about Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him. “Dunno why you care. I thought he was a bit of an idiot,” said Ron, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible. “All that junk about Lockhart being so great—”

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves with Peter next to her, carrying all her books. “Thanks for helping me, Peter,” said Hermione. “Don't mention it, I love helping people,”

“Who is that Ravenclaw guy?” said Ron. “That's Peter Parker, he is a second year,” said Drew. “His parents moved to London so he studies here,”

Hermione looked irritable and at last seemed ready to talk to them. “All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out,” she said, saying goodbye to Peter and sitting down next to Harry, Drew and Ron. “And there’s a two week waiting list. I wish I hadn’t left my copy at home, but I couldn’t fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books.”

“Why do you want it?” asked Harry. “The same reason everyone else wants it,” said Hermione, “to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.”

“What’s that?” said Harry quickly. “That’s just it. I can’t remember,” said Hermione, biting her lip. “And I can’t find the story anywhere else—”

“Hermione, let me read your composition,” said Ron desperately, checking his watch. “No, I won’t,” said Hermione, suddenly severe. “You’ve had ten days to finish it—” “I only need another two inches, come on—” The bell rang. Ron and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard.

Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn’t noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staff room fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again.

He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. Hermione put up her hand.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

“Miss—er—?” “Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets,” said Hermione in a clear voice.

Dean Thomas, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Lavender Brown’s head came up off her arms and Neville Longbottom’s elbow slipped off his desk.

Professor Binns blinked. “My subject is History of Magic,” he said in his dry, wheezy voice. “I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends.” He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk sipping and continued, “In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers—” He stuttered to a halt.

Hermione’s hand was waving in the air again. “Miss Grant?” “Please, sir, don’t legends always have a basis in fact?”

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Drew was sure that Hermione was the first student that had ever interrupted him.

“Well,” said Professor Binns slowly, “yes, one could argue that, I suppose.” He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. “However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale—”

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns’s every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Harry could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

“Oh, very well,” he said slowly. “Let me see… the Chamber of Secrets… “You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago—the precise date is uncertain—by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.”

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued. “For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.”

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise. “Reliable historical sources tell us this much,” he said. “But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.”

“Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.”

There was silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn’t the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns’s classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

“The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course,” he said. “Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible.”

Hermione’s hand was back in the air. “Sir—what exactly do you mean by the ‘horror within’ the Chamber?” “That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control,” said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks. “I tell you, the thing does not exist,” said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. “There is no Chamber and no monster.”

“But, sir,” said Seamus Finnigan, “if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?” “Nonsense, O’Flaherty,” said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. “If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven’t found the thing—”

“But, Professor,” piped up Parvati Patil, “you’d probably have to use Dark Magic to open it—” “Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss Pennyfeather,” snapped Professor Binns. “I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore—”

“But maybe you’ve got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn’t—” began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough. “That will do,” he said sharply. “It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!” And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

“I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony,” Ron told Harry, Drew and Hermione as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner. “But I never knew he started all this pure blood stuff. I wouldn’t be in his house if you paid me. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I’d’ve got the train straight back home…”

Drew and Hermione nodded fervently, but Harry didn’t say anything. Drew then remembered something about last year. The Sorting Hat had considered putting him in all houses including Slytherin.

Drew had never told Harry, Ron and Hermione about that because he didn't want them to know that Slytherin was one of Drew's selections.

As they were shunted along in the throng, Colin Creevy went past.

“Hiya, Harry!” “Hullo, Colin,” said Harry automatically. “Harry—Harry—a boy in my class has been saying you’re—”

But Colin was so small he couldn’t fight against the tide of people bearing him toward the Great Hall; they heard him squeak, “See you, Harry!” and he was gone.

“What’s a boy in his class saying about you?” Hermione wondered. “That I’m Slytherin’s heir, I expect,” said Harry, Drew realised that as he suddenly remembered the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from Harry and Drew at lunchtime. “People here’ll believe anything,” said Ron in disgust.

The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty. “D’you really think there’s a Chamber of Secrets?” Ron asked Hermione. “I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “Dumbledore couldn’t cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be—well—human.”

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened.

They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message **_“The Chamber of Secrets has been Opened.”_**

“That’s where Filch has been keeping guard,” Ron muttered. They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

“Can’t hurt to have a poke around,” said Harry, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues. Drew helped him too. “Scorch marks!” Harry said. “Here—and here—”

“Come and look at this!” said Hermione. “This is funny…” Harry and Drew got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall.

Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack.

A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

“Have you ever seen spiders act like that?” said Hermione wonderingly. “No,” said Harry, “have you, Ron? Ron?”

Drew looked over his shoulder. Ron was standing well back and seemed to be fighting the impulse to run. “What’s up?” said Harry.

“I—don’t—like—spiders,” said Ron tensely. “I never knew that,” said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. “You’ve used spiders in Potions loads of times…”

“I don’t mind them dead,” said Ron, who was carefully looking anywhere but at the window. “I just don’t like the way they move…

Hermione giggled and Drew laughed quietly. “It’s not funny,” said Ron, fiercely. “If you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my—my teddy bear into a dirty great spider because I broke his toy broomstick… You wouldn’t like them either if you’d been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and…”

He broke off, shuddering. Hermione and Drew were obviously still trying not to laugh. “C'mon, it's not that scary,” said Drew as he raised his hand. “Spider!” shouted Drew and a spider orbed to Drew's hand.

Then, he put the spiders on Ron's head. Ron quickly told them to get the spider off his head when someone's footsteps can be heard.

It was Peter's. “What are you guys doing here? If Filch sees you four, he will think that you guys are up to something,” said Peter as he grabbed the spider from Ron's head. “And spiders are cute, you know,”

“He's weird,” Ron whispered. “So, why are you guys doing here?” “We're looking fo—” “—nothing,” said Harry, covering Drew's mouth. “You know you can tell me, right,” said Peter innocently. 

Drew bit Harry's hand and told Peter all about the Chamber of Secrets without hesitation. “So, you can hear things?” asked Peter. “Yes,” said Harry, rubbing his hand gently.

Peter then swore that he will never ever tell anyone about what he just heard and decided to help them. They then continued searching for clues.

Harry suddenly said, “Remember all that water on the floor? Where did that come from? Someone’s mopped it up.” “It was about here,” said Ron, recovering himself to walk a few paces past Filch’s chair and pointing. “Level with this door.”

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he’d been burned. “What’s the matter?” said Harry.

“Can’t go in there,” said Ron gruffly. “That’s a girls’ toilet.” “Oh, Ron, there won’t be anyone in there,” said Hermione, standing up and coming over. “That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. Come on, let’s have a look.”

And ignoring the large **_OUT OF ORDER_** sign, she opened the door. It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Drew had ever set foot in.

Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, “Hello, Myrtle, how are you?”

Harry, Drew, Peter and Ron went to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

“This is a girls’ bathroom,” she said, eyeing the boys suspiciously. “They’re not girls.” “No,” Hermione agreed. “I just wanted to show them how er—nice it is in here.” She waved vaguely at the dirty old mirror and the damp floor.

“Ask her if she saw anything,” Harry mouthed at Hermione. “What are you whispering?” said Myrtle, staring at him. “Nothing,” said Harry quickly. “We wanted to ask—”

“I wish people would stop talking behind my back!” said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. “I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead—”

“Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,” said Hermione. “Harry only—” “No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one!” howled Myrtle. “My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!”

“We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything funny lately,” said Hermione quickly. “Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween.” “Did you see anyone near here that night?” asked Harry.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” said Myrtle dramatically. “Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m—that I’m “ “Already dead,” said Ron helpfully. Drew hit Ron in the elbow.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U bend.

The boys stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, “Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let’s go.”

Drew had barely closed the door on Myrtle’s gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all five of them jump. “RON!”

Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge gleam, an expression of complete shock on his face. “That’s a girls’ bathroom!” he gasped. “What were you—?”

“We're visiting Myrtle,” Drew said. “You know, the ghost who haunts this toilet,” said Ron. Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Drew forcefully of his grandma Piper.

“Get—away—from—there—” Percy said, striding toward them and starting to bustle them along, flapping his arms. “Don’t you care what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone’s at dinner—”

“Why shouldn’t we be here?” said Ron hotly, stopping short and glaring at Percy. “Listen, we never laid a finger on that cat!”

“That’s what I told Ginny,” said Percy fiercely, “but she still seems to think you’re going to be expelled, I’ve never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, you might think of her, all the first years are thoroughly overexcited by this business—”

“You don’t care about Ginny,” said Ron, whose ears were now reddening. “You’re just worried I’m going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy—”

“Five points from Gryffindor!” Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect badge. “And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work, or I’ll write to Mum!”

And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron’s ears. Harry, Ron, Drew and Hermione chose seats as far as possible from Percy in the common room that night. Ron was still in a very bad temper and kept blotting his Charms homework.

When he reached absently for his wand to remove the smudges, it ignited the parchment. Fuming almost as much as his homework, Ron slammed _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ shut. To Drew's surprise, Hermione followed suit.

“Who can it be, though?” she said in a quiet voice, as though continuing a conversation they had just been having. “Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?” “Let’s think,” said Ron in mock puzzlement. “Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?”

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced. “If you’re talking about Malfoy—” “Of course I am!” said Ron. “You heard him—‘ _You’ll be next, Mudbloods!_ ’—come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him—”

“Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?” said Hermione skeptically. “Look at his family,” said Harry, closing his books, too. “The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendants. His father’s definitely evil enough.”

“They could’ve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!” said Ron. “Handing it down, father to son…” “Well,” said Hermione cautiously, “I suppose it’s possible…”

“But how do we prove it?” said Harry darkly. “There might be a way,” said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. “Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect—”

“If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won’t you?” said Ron irritably. “All right,” said Hermione coldly. “What we’d need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it’s us.”

“But that’s impossible,” Harry said as Ron laughed while Drew raised his eyebrows at Hermione. “No, it’s not,” said Hermione. “All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion.” “What’s that?” said Ron, Drew and Harry together.

“Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago—” “D’you think we’ve got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?” muttered Ron.

“It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He’s probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him.” “This Polyjuice stuff sounds a bit dodgy to me,” said Ron, frowning.

“What about Drew? I heard whitelighters can change their appearance,” “I can't do that until I'm sixteen years old; my father put a binding potion on me,” said Drew.

“What if we were stuck looking like three of the Slytherins forever?” said Ron, still frowning.

“It wears off after a while,” said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently. “But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called Moste Potente Potions and it’s bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library.”

There was only one way to get out a book from the Restricted Section: You needed a signed note of permission from a teacher.

“Hard to see why we’d want the book, really,” said Ron, “if we weren’t going to try and make one of the potions.” “I think,” said Hermione, “that if we made it sound as though we were just interested in the theory, we might stand a chance…” “Oh, come on, no teacher’s going to fall for that,” said Ron.

“They’d have to be really thick…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	8. A Match to Really Remember.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drew saved Harry from the Bludger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits.

He usually picked Harry and Drew to help him with these reconstructions; so far, Harry had been forced to play a simple Transylvanian villager whom Lockhart had cured of a Babbling Curse, a yeti with a head cold, and a vampire who had been unable to eat anything except lettuce since Lockhart had dealt with him as Drew had played a ghost with a bad temper, a naughty troll just like Peeves and a banshee who always screams.

Harry and Drew were hauled to the front of the class during their very next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, this time Harry was acting a werewolf and Drew was acting as—gulps—Lockhart himself.

If they hadn’t had a very good reason for keeping Lockhart in a good mood, they would have refused to do it.

“Nice loud howl, Harry—exactly—and then, Drew—pounced—like this—slammed him to the floor—thus with one hand, you managed to hold him down—with your other, you put your wand to his throat—you then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm—he let out a piteous moan—go on, Harry—higher than that—good—the fur vanished—the fangs shrank—and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective—and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.”

The bell rang and Lockhart got to his feet. “Homework—compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Signed copies of _Magical Me_ to the author of the best one!”

The class began to leave. Harry and Drew returned to the back of the room, where Ron and Hermione were waiting. “Finally, it's done,” said Drew. “Ready?” Harry muttered. “Wait till everyone’s gone,” said Hermione nervously. “All right…”

She approached Lockhart’s desk, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand, Harry, Drew and Ron right behind her.

“Er—Professor Lockhart?” Hermione stammered. “I wanted to—to get this book out of the library. Just for background reading.”

She held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking slightly. “But the thing is, it’s in the Restricted Section of the library, so I need a teacher to sign for it—I’m sure it would help me understand what you say in _Gadding with Ghouls_ about slow acting venoms…”

“Ah, _Gadding with Ghouls_!” said Lockhart, taking the note from Hermione and smiling widely at her. “Possibly my very favorite book. You enjoyed it?” “Oh, yes,” said Hermione eagerly. “So clever, the way you trapped that last one with the tea strainer—”

“Well, I’m sure no one will mind me giving the best student of the year a little extra help,” said Lockhart warmly, and he pulled out an enormous peacock quill. “Yes, nice, isn’t it?” he said, misreading the revolted look on Ron’s face. “I usually save it for book signings.”

He scrawled an enormous loopy signature on the note and handed it back to Hermione. “Harry, let's go,” said Drew as he turned around to see Lockhart still taking to Harry.

After they had finished chatting, Harry ran after Drew, Hermione and Ron. “I don’t believe it,” he said as the three of them examined the signature on the note. “He didn’t even look at the book we wanted.”

“That’s because he’s a brainless git,” said Ron. “But who cares, we’ve got what we needed—” “He is not a brainless git,” said Hermione shrilly as they half ran toward the library.

“Just because he said you were the best student of the year,” Then, Drew said, “Well at least he is right about that—”

They dropped their voices as they entered the muffled stillness of the library. Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thin, irritable woman who looked like an underfed vulture.

“ _Moste Potente Potions_?” she repeated suspiciously, trying to take the note from Hermione; but Hermione wouldn’t let go.

“I was wondering if I could keep it,” she said breathlessly. “Oh, come on,” said Ron, wrenching it from her grasp and thrusting it at Madam Pince. “We’ll get you another autograph. Lockhart’ll sign anything if it stands still long enough.”

Madam Pince held the note up to the light, as though determined to detect a forgery, but it passed the test.

She stalked away between the lofty shelves and returned several minutes later carrying a large and moldy looking book.

Hermione put it carefully into her bag and they left, trying not to walk too quickly or look too guilty.

After that, they called for Peter which made Harry unpleasant. “What if he suddenly tells Dumbledore?” asked Harry worriedly. “He won't,”

Five minutes later, they were barricaded in Moaning Myrtle’s out of order bathroom once again. Hermione had overridden Ron’s objections by pointing out that it was the last place anyone in their right minds would go, so they were guaranteed some privacy.

Moaning Myrtle was crying noisily in her stall, but they were ignoring her, and she them.

Drew told Peter about their plan on how to bust Malfoy on being a possible heir to Salazar Slytherin. Hermione opened Moste Potente Potions carefully, and the five of them of them bent over the damp spotted pages.

It was clear from a glance why it belonged in the Restricted Section.

Some of the potions had effects almost too gruesome to think about, and there were some very unpleasant illustrations, which included a man who seemed to have been turned inside out and a witch sprouting several extra pairs of arms out of her head.

“Here it is,” said Hermione excitedly as she found the page headed The Polyjuice Potion. It was decorated with drawings of people halfway through transforming into other people. Drew was amazed by the illustrations, it looked convincingly real.

“This is the most complicated potion I’ve ever seen,” said Hermione as they scanned the recipe. “Lacewing flies, leeches, fluxweed, and knotgrass,” she murmured, running her finger down the list of ingredients. “Well, they’re easy enough, they’re in the student storecupboard, we can help ourselves…Oooh, look, powdered horn of a Bicorn—don’t know where we’re going to get that—shredded skin of a Boomslang—that’ll be tricky, too and of course a bit of whoever we want to change into.”

“Excuse me?” said Ron sharply. “What d’you mean, a bit of whoever we’re changing into? I’m drinking nothing with Crabbe’s toenails in it—”

Hermione continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “We don’t have to worry about that yet, though, because we add those bits last…

Ron turned, speechless, to Harry, who had another worry. “D’you realize how much we’re going to have to steal, Hermione? Shredded skin of a boomslang, that’s definitely not in the students’ cupboard. What’re we going to do, break into Snape’s private stores? I don’t know if this is a good idea…” “He's got a good point, Hermione,” said Peter. “What if we get caught?” said Drew.

Hermione shut the book with a snap. “Well, if you four are going to chicken out, fine,” she said. There were bright pink patches on her cheeks and her eyes were brighter than usual. “I don’t want to break rules, you know. I think threatening Muggle-borns is far worse than brewing up a difficult potion. But if you don’t want to find out if it’s Malfoy, I’ll go straight to Madam Pince now and hand the book back in—”

“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be persuading us to break rules,” said Ron. “All right, we’ll do it. But not toenails, okay?”

“How long will it take to make, anyway?” said Harry as Hermione, looking happier, opened the book again.

“Well, since the fluxweed has got to be picked at the full moon and the lacewings have got to be stewed for twenty one days… I’d say it’d be ready in about a month, if we can get all the ingredients.”

“A month?” said Ron. “Malfoy could have attacked half the Muggleborns in the school by then!” But Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously again, and he added swiftly, “But it’s the best plan we’ve got, so full steam ahead, I say.” “' _Operation Turned Into Somebody Else With A Polyjuice Potion_ ' now have started.

However, while Hermione was checking that the coast was clear for them to leave the bathroom, Ron muttered to Harry and Drew, “It’ll be a lot less hassle if you two can just knock Malfoy off his broom tomorrow.”

Drew woke early on Saturday morning and lay for a while thinking about the coming Quidditch match. He was nervous, mainly at the thought of what Wood would say if Gryffindor lost, but also at the idea of facing a team mounted on the fastest racing brooms gold could buy.

He had never wanted to beat Slytherin so badly. After half an hour of lying there, he got up, woke Harry up, dressed, and went down to breakfast early, where they found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled at the long, empty table, all looking uptight and not speaking much.

As eleven o’clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air.

Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry and Drew good luck as they entered the locker rooms. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood’s usual pre match pep talk.

“Slytherin has better brooms than us,” he began. “No point denying it. But we’ve got better people on our brooms. We’ve trained harder than they have, we’ve been flying in all weathers—” (“Too true,” muttered George Weasley. “I haven’t been properly dry since August”) “and we’re going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team.” Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.

“It’ll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we’ve got to win today, we’ve got to.” “So no pressure, Harry,” said Fred, winking at him. “I will say the same for you, Drew,” Drew gulped nervously. 

As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too.

Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch. “Three… two… one…” With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky.

Drew saw Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch. “All right there, Scarhead?” yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom as Drew scored ten points.

 _'Harry, please be careful,'_ Drew thought as he scored another ten points. However, the match didn't go as planned; It had started to rain which was not made by Drew; Drew felt heavy drops fall onto his face, splattering onto his glasses.

He couldn't see very well because of the rain. He didn’t have a clue what was going on in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan, who was commentating, say, “Slytherin lead, sixty points to fifty.”

The Slytherins’ superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs and don't forget to mention about Drew, he was on a Quidditch spree, and meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry out of the air.

Fred and George were now flying so close to him on either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.

As Drew scored another ten points, he saw George making a hand movement, it looked like he was signalling to Oliver.

Oliver had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch’s whistle rang out and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to avoid the mad Bludger. Drew and the other players followed.

“What’s going on?” said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. “We’re being flattened but Drew, you've done a great job. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?”

“We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Oliver,” said George angrily. “Someone’s fixed it—it won’t leave Harry alone. It hasn’t gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it.”

“But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch’s office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then…” said Wood, anxiously.

Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Drew could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in Harry's direction.

“Listen,” said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, “with you two flying around me all the time the only way I’m going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one.”

“Harry, that's suicide,” said Drew. “Don’t be thick,” said Fred. “It’ll take your head off.” Oliver was looking from Harry to the Weasleys. “Oliver, this is insane,” said Angelina Johnson angrily. “You can’t let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let’s ask for an inquiry…”

“If we stop now, we’ll have to forfeit the match!” said Harry. “And we’re not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!”

“Harry, you will not die for a stupid, little Snitch!” shouted Drew. “This is all your fault,” George said angrily to Oliver. “‘ _Get the Snitch or die trying_ ,’ what a stupid thing to tell him!”

Madam Hooch had joined them. “Ready to resume play?” she asked Oliver. He looked at the determined look on Harry’s face.

“All right,” he said. “Fred, George, you heard Harry—leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on hi—” ”Wood, if he's dead, I swear that I will slit your throat when you are asleep,” Drew threatened him quietly. 

The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch’s whistle, Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him.

Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless kept his eyes wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the Bludger.

Drew could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew Harry must look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn’t change direction as quickly as Harry could; he began a kind of roller coaster ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood…

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, Drew saw something by Malfoy's left ear—It was the Golden Snitch.

Then, Drew saw the mad Bludger was shooting towards Harry. Luckily...for Harry, Drew orbed himself and his broom behind Harry and...

WHAM.

The Bludger had hit Drew, smashed into his chest and felt he had an internal injury. “Drew?” said Harry loudly as blood started oozing out of Drew's mouth.

Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his chest, he slid sideways on his rain drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side—the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time aiming at Harry's face—Drew orbed and it hit him in the chest for the second time. “Drew!” cried Harry.

“Get the Snitch, dammit,” said Drew as he headed straight to the ground.

Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.

“What the—” he gasped, careening out of Harry’s way. Harry made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch and there was a yell from the crowd below as Drew are getting closer to the ground, trying hard not to pass out.

Without hesitation, Harry was flying as fast as he could towards Drew. Drew was an inch from the ground when Harry grabbed him by his robe.

Then, he lowered his broom slowly. After they were on the ground, Harry put Drew's head on his lap.

“Drew—Drew, hang on, you will be ok,” said Harry. Drew was pale as a vampire. “Aha,” he said vaguely as he coughed some blood. “We’ve won.” And he fainted. “Drew? Drew! Wake up!” cried Harry.

“Don't worry, I will save him,” It was Lockhart. When he took his wand out, his young brother, Dylan, showed up.

“Oh no, you don't!” shouted Dylan as he turned into a monkey and took his wand. Then, he crouched next to Harry and Drew.

Everyone was now making their way to see Drew. Amongst them were Hermione, Ron, Peter, and apparently Cedric Diggory.

Then, Harry heard a familiar clicking noise nearby. “I don’t want a photo of this, Colin!” he said loudly.

And then there's Wood, who couldn’t help grinning even though one of his Chaser was severely injured. “Great capture, Harry, really spectacular, your best yet, I’d say—” “Now, it's not the time, Oliver!” shouted Harry as tears started flowing down his eyes.

Through the thicket of legs around him, Harry spotted Fred and George Weasley, wrestling the rogue Bludger which was covered by some of Drew's blood, into a box. It was still putting up a terrific fight.

“Drew! Bloody Hell!” said Ron as he saw the blood that was on Drew's and Harry's robe. “C'mon, let's bring him to Madam Pomfrey!” said Peter as Ron, Harry and Peter were escorting Drew to the Hospital Wing with Hermione, Dylan and Cedric following them.

When they arrived, Madam Pomfrey was shocked to see Drew. “What happened!” she screamed. “A Bludger hit him! Do something fast!”

After five times of check-ups, Madam Pomfrey finally said, “He's not dead but almost...” “So you're saying that he will be alright?” asked Cedric. “Yes, he will,”

Hermione, Cedric, Peter and Dylan waited outside the curtain drawn around Drew's bed while Ron and Harry helped him into his pajamas.

It took a while because they didn't want any of his injuries get worse. Peter and Cedric must go back to their own common room. They wished Drew will be ok.

Harry sat beside Drew, still looking gloomy. “We won, though,” said Ron, trying to cheer Harry up as a grin breaking across his face. “That was some catch you made. Malfoy’s face… he looked ready to kill!” “I want to know how he fixed that Bludger,” said Hermione darkly.

“We can add that to the list of questions we’ll ask him when we’ve taken the Polyjuice Potion,” said Harry, holding Drew's hand. “I hope it tastes good,” “If it’s got bits of Slytherins in it? You’ve got to be joking,” said Ron.

The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Drew.

“Unbelievable flying, Harry,” said George. “I’ve just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn’t seem too happy.” His cheerful tone turned into a sad one. “So, how's Drew?” “He's fine, he just needs to rest,” said Ron.

They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Drew's bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, “This boy needs rest, and don't forget to mention peace and quiet! Out! OUT!”

“But ma'am, please. Let me stay for the night,” said Harry. “I'm sorry, dear but I can't,” “Please,” said Harry determinedly.

Madam Pomfrey hesitated. “Well, I guess one night wouldn't hurt,” Harry smiled and bade goodbye to his fellow Gryffindors. Then, he sat on a chair next to Drew's bed and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	9. The Rumors.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry confessed his love to Drew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

“Woah,” Drew was in a wide, beautiful garden. There were butterflies and bees flying around to get some nectars. There were a pond full of exotic fishes. It was completely different than being in heaven.

Then, a melody twinkled softly in the air. Drew saw a woman sitting on a bench. “Mom?” called Drew. She was the one who sang that beautiful melody.

Her name was Catherine Taylor Smith. She had a pair of beautiful blue eyes like Drew's. She also had a long, straight, black hair. (imagine her hair was like Prue's in season three)

“Drew, come here,” said Catherine. Drew hesitantly walked towards her Mom. “You don't have to worry, in here you can do anything,” Drew then sat next to her Mom.

“Is this a dream?” asked Drew. “Do you think this is a dream?” “I'm not sure,” said Drew. “Am I dead?” “No, my dear,” “So, why can I see you?”

“Drew, you don't have to be dead to see me, you can see me every time and everywhere, you just can't see me with your naked eyes,”

“So, you came to my birthday party last year?” “Of course, it's too bad that I can't throw foods around,” said Catherine, chuckling. “Why can't you?” “The Elders wouldn't let me,” said Catherine sadly.

“Screw the Elders,” said Drew as his anger were rising. “Drew, think about your Grandma Piper. She was devastated when her sister, Prue, died,” said Catherine. “But she can visit us now,”

“She started visiting them when you were just one year old,” “So what! I have to wait for my grandchild to be born for you to visit?” shouted Drew thoughtfully.

Catherine smiled. “Drew, you have a life down there. My death doesn't make you weaker but it makes you stronger,” “But look at me, I almost died protecting Harry,” “But you glad you did that, right?” “Yes, but what if I weren't there for Harry?” said Drew.

“And that's why you should live,” said Catherine. “to protect your friends and family,” Drew suddenly heard a sound.

“Drew... Drew....” It sounded like Harry's voice. “Mom, did you hea—” He turned around and his Mom disappeared. Instead, there's a very bright light blinding Drew's eyes.

Then, he woke up to find the dormitory blazing with winter sunlight and his chest was no longer in pain. “Drew! You're awake!”

He sat up quickly and looked over at a bed, it had been blocked from view by the high curtains. “What's that?” asked Drew.

Seeing that he was awake, Madam Pomfrey immediately bustling over with a bottle. It looked like a healing medicine.

Shocked, Madam Pomfrey started to ask, “How you had healed so quickly! It usually takes months!” “I don't know, I saw orbs were surrounding him and then he woke up,” said Harry. “It did what?”

After Madam Pomfrey did a check-up, she said, “You are now completely healed,” Harry and Drew then fed themselves porridge left-handed. “When you’ve finished eating, you two may leave.”

Drew dressed as quickly as he could and they hurried off to Gryffindor Tower, desperate to see Ron and Hermione but they weren’t there.

Then, they went to the Ravenclaw Tower to see Peter and he wasn't there either.

Harry and Drew left to look for them, wondering where they could have got to and Drew was feeling slightly hurt that they weren’t interested in whether he was healed or not.

Along the way, Harry told Drew about Colin and Dobby. Drew didn't look too shocked. He knew that somehow the Chamber had been opened before.

As they passed the library, Percy Weasley strolled out of it, looking in far better spirits than last time they’d met.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” he said. “And hello to you too, Drew.” He looked like he didn't even know that Drew was hurt yesterday. “Both of you did excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup—you two each earned fifty points!”

“You haven’t seen Ron or Hermione, have you?” said Harry. “Or maybe Peter,” “No, I haven't seen them and that Parker boy,” said Percy, his smile fading. “I hope Ron’s not in another girls’ toilet…”

Harry and Drew forced a laugh, watched Percy walk out of sight, and then headed straight for Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Drew couldn’t see why Ron, Peter and Hermione would be in there again, but after making sure that neither Filch nor any prefects were around, Harry opened the door and heard their voices coming from a locked stall.

“It’s just Drew and me,” he said, closing the door behind him. There was a clunk, a splash, and a gasp from within the stall and they saw Hermione’s eye peering through the keyhole.

“Harry! Drew!” she said. “You two gave us such a fright—come in—wait—Drew?” Harry and Drew explained to Hermione, how Drew had been healed.

“Thank Merlin, you're now fine,” said Ron. “And what were you thinking! You could've died!” said Hermione. “But I can't just let that Bludger murdered Harry,” “Thank you, Drew,” said Harry, smiling at Drew.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we need to finish this potion,” said Peter as Harry and Drew squeezed into the stall.

An old cauldron was perched on the toilet, and a crackling from under the rim told Drew they had lit a fire beneath it. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was a speciality of Hermione’s.

“We’d’ve come to meet you, but we decided to get started on the Polyjuice Potion,” Ron explained as Harry, with difficulty, locked the stall again. “We’ve decided this is the safest place to hide it.”

Harry started to tell them about Colin, but Hermione interrupted. “We already know—we heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick this morning. That’s why we decided we’d better get going—”

“The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better,” snarled Ron. “D’you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin.”

“There’s something else,” said Harry, watching Hermione tearing bundles of knotgrass and throwing them into the potion. “Dobby came to visit me in the middle of the night.”

Ron, Peter and Hermione looked up, amazed. Harry told them everything Dobby had told him—or hadn’t told him. Peter, Hermione and Ron listened with their mouths open.

“The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?” Hermione said. “This settles it,” said Ron in a triumphant voice. “Lucius Malfoy must’ve opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he’s told dear old Draco how to do it. It’s obvious. Wish Dobby’d told you what kind of monster’s in there, though. I want to know how come nobody’s noticed it sneaking around the school.”

“Maybe it can make itself invisible,” said Hermione, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. “Or maybe it can disguise itself—pretend to be a suit of armor or something—I’ve read about Chameleon Ghouls—”

“Or maybe it can turned into a small insect and when it saw it's victim, he changed back into its monster form,”

“You read too much, Hermione,” said Ron, pouring dead lacewings on top of the leeches. “And you read too much comic books, Peter,” said Drew.

“A comi-what?” said Ron, dumbfounded. “Never mind,” Ron crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and looked at Harry.

“So Dobby stopped us from getting on the train and broke your arm.” He shook his head. “You know what, Harry? If he doesn’t stop trying to save your life he’s going to kill you.”

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning.

The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but Drew felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up.

They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school.

Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pureblood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

“They went for Filch first,” Neville said, his round face fearful. “And everyone knows I’m almost a Squib.”

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas.

Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione signed her list but Peter had to go home so he wished them good luck; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very suspicious.

The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him.

Unfortunately, the potion was only half finished. They still needed the Bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Snape’s private stores.

Drew tried to summon the ingredients but failed because Snape had put some wards around his stores.

“What we need,” said Hermione briskly as Thursday afternoon’s double Potions lesson loomed nearer, “is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape’s office and take what we need.” Harry, Drew and Ron looked at her nervously.

“I think I’d better do the actual stealing,” Hermione continued in a matter of fact tone. “Why can't I do the stealing?” asked Drew. “Snape always keep an eye on Harry and you are sitting next to Harry, so he will notice you missing and think that you do it,” said Hermione.

“And you two will be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I’ve got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so.”

Drew smiled feebly. Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape’s Potions class was about as safe as telling Grandma Piper that her food was not delicious.

Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon’s lesson proceeded in the usual way.

Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients.

Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors’ work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively.

Draco Malfoy, who was Snape’s favorite student, kept flicking puffer fish eyes at Ron, Drew and Harry, who knew that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you could say “Unfair.”

Drew was completely unfocused because he was waiting for Hermione's signal. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione caught Harry’s and Drew's eyes and nodded.

Harry and Drew ducked swiftly down behind their cauldron, pulled one of Fred’s Filibuster fireworks out of their pocket, and gave it a quick prod with his wand.

The firework began to fizz and sputter. Knowing he had only seconds, Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it landed right on target in Crabbe's and Goyle’s cauldron.

Their potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them.

Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate—

Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip quietly into Snape’s office.

“Silence! SILENCE!” Snape roared. “Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft—when I find out who did this—”

Drew snickered as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon.

As half the class lumbered up to Snape’s desk, some weighted down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffed up lips, Drew saw Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.

When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Crabbe's and Goyle’s cauldron and scooped out the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.

“If I ever find out who threw this,” Snape whispered, “I shall make sure that person is expelled.” Drew made a puzzled expression which he hoped that Snape would fall for it.

Snape was looking right at Harry and Drew, and the bell that rang ten minutes later could not have been more welcome.

“He knew it was us,” Harry told Ron and Hermione as they hurried back to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. “I could tell.” “Let's just hope that he didn't think we're sus,” “Sus?” said Ron. “It's suspicious, obviously,”

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir feverishly. “It’ll be ready in two weeks,” she said happily. “Snape can’t prove it was you,” said Ron reassuringly to Harry and Drew. “What can he do?” “Knowing Snape, something foul,” said Harry as the potion frothed and bubbled.

A week later, Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” said Seamus. “First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…”

“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest. “Could be useful,” he said to Harry, Drew and Hermione as they went into dinner. “Shall we go?”

Harry, Drew and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o’clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall.

The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead.

The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” said Hermione as they edged into the chattering crowd. “Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young—maybe it’ll be him.”

As long as it’s not—” Harry began. “—Shit,” Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called “Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!”

“Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions—for full details, see my published works.

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry—you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

“Wouldn’t it be good if they finished each other off?” Ron muttered in Harry’s ear. “That's a good idea,” said Drew.

Snape’s upper lip was curling. Drew wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he’d had to vanquish him.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the silent crowd. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Harry murmured, watching Snape baring his teeth _. 'Please murder Lockhart, please,'_ Drew thought.

“One—two—three—”

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!”

There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Drew smiled widely while Hermione was dancing on tiptoes.

“Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed through her fingers. “Who cares?” said Harry, Drew and Ron together.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end. “Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the platform.

“That was a Disarming Charm—as you see, I’ve lost my wand—ah, thank you, Miss Brown—yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy—however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…”

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d like to help me—”

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry, Drew and Ron first.

“Time to split up the dream team, I think,” he sneered. “Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter—”

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione. “I don’t think so,” said Snape, smiling coldly. “Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let’s see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger—you can partner Miss Bulstrode.” “What about me?” asked Drew. “Oh, Halliwell, you can partner Parker,” “Peter?”

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who reminded Drew of a picture he’d seen in _Holidays with Hags._

She was large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not return.

“Face your partners!” called Lockhart, back on the platform. “And bow!” As Drew bowed, he told Peter, “Don't worry, just do it,”

“Wands at the ready!” shouted Lockhart. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents—only to disarm them—we don’t want any accidents—one… two… three—”

“Expelliarmus!” shouted Drew and Peter but the spell hit each other. They flew backwards and hit the ground.

“Accio wand!” shouted Peter and Drew again as they got up and Drew's wand was on Peter's hand and Peter's wand was on Drew's.

 _'Oh God, we do have a lot of similarities'_ Drew thought. “I said disarm only!” Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd. “Lumos Maxima!” shouted Peter. The spell almost blinded everyone.

Then, Drew shouted, “Aguamenti!” A jet of water hit Peter in the face and the next thing he knew was that he was lying on the floor with his face was soak wet.

Drew looked around and saw Harry dancing uncontrollably and Malfoy laughing like a madman. “Stop! Stop!” screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.

“Finite Incantatem!” he shouted; Harry’s feet stopped dancing, Malfoy stopped laughing, and they were able to look up.

A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor.

Harry and Drew leapt forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger than they were.

“Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. “Up you go, Macmillan… Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot…”

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall.

He lanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. “Let’s have a volunteer pair—Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you—”

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. “Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.”

Neville’s round, pink face went pinker. “How about Malfoy and Potter?” said Snape with a twisted smile.

“Excellent idea!” said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room. “Now, Harry,” said Lockhart. “When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.”

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, “Whoops—my wand is a little overexcited—” _'Harry is going to die,'_ thought Drew.

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, “Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?”

Drew heard Malfoy muttering something to Harry but he could not hear him. However, Drew heard two words from Harry, “You wish,” Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry!” “What, drop my wand?”

But Lockhart wasn’t listening. “Three—two—one—go!” he shouted. Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, “Serpensortia!” The end of his wand exploded.

Drew watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between Harry and Malfoy, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. “I’ll get rid of it…”

“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack.

Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Drew was about to conjure a fireball when Harry said something. He was saying a language that Drew didn't know so Drew used his Omnilingualism power to know what Harry was saying. He heard him saying, “Leave him alone!”

And miraculously—inexplicably—the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its eyes now on Harry. Drew was shocked and worried.

Harry looked up at Justin, grinning. _'At least, Harry had sav—'_ “What do you think you’re playing at?” Justin shouted and he turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look.

Drew heard an ominous muttering all around the walls. Ron then was tugging on the back of Harry's robes.

Ron whispered something to him and they left, with Drew and Hermione hurrying alongside them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something.

Drew didn’t have a clue what was going on, and neither Ron nor Hermione explained anything until they had dragged him all the way up to the empty Gryffindor common room.

Then Ron pushed Harry into an armchair and said, “You’re a Parselmouth. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’m a what?” said Harry. “A Parselmouth!” said Ron. “You can talk to snakes!” “I know,” said Harry. “I mean, that’s only the second time I’ve ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once—long story—but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil and I sort of set it free without meaning to that was before I knew I was a wizard—” “A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?” Ron repeated faintly.

“So?” said Harry. “I bet loads of people here can do it.” “Oh, no they can’t,” said Ron. “It’s not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad.”

“What’s bad?” said Harry, starting to feel quite angry. “What’s wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn’t told that snake not to attack Justin—”

“Oh, that’s what you said to it?” “What d’you mean? You were there—you heard me—” “I heard you speaking Parseltongue,” said Ron. “Snake language. You could have been saying anything—no wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something—it was creepy, you know—” Harry gaped at him.

“I spoke a different language? But—I didn’t realize—how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it?”

“But I heard him, he told the snake to leave Justin alone,” said Drew. Harry put a weak smile on his face. “You heard him? But how?” asked Ron. “I'm using my Omnilingualism power. It means I can speak and understand any language,”

Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry and Drew couldn’t see what was so terrible.

“What is the big deal! Harry saved his ass and suddenly everyone hates Harry. Does it matter as long as Justin isn't dead!” Drew bursted out.

“It matters,” said Hermione, speaking at last in a hushed voice, “because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That’s why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent.”

Harry’s mouth fell open and Drew just said a word: Oh

“Exactly,” said Ron. “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-great-great-grandson or something—”

“But I’m not,” said Harry. “You’ll find that hard to prove,” said Hermione. “He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be.” _'This is bullshit,_ ' Drew thought.

Drew could not sleep well lay that night. Through a gap in the curtains around his four-poster he watched snow starting to drift past the tower window and wondered…

 _'What if Harry is the heir of Slytherin? What if I am the heir of Slytherin?'_ Drew sinked back onto his pillows. _'No, couldn't be,'_

Then, Drew heard a voice, “Drew, are you still awake?” It was Harry's. It seemed that Harry could not sleep either. “Harry?” called Drew quietly as he sat up.

He saw Harry was sitting on his bed so Drew got up from his bed and walked towards Harry's. “Still thinking, eh?” asked Drew, putting his arm around Harry. “What if the Sorting Hat is right? What if I should be in Slytherin?”

At these words, Drew opened his mouth widely. “You what?” exclaimed Drew quietly. “It's a bit shocking, right? Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was supposed to be sorted into Slytherin.”

Drew realized he was not the only one. “I was considered to be sorted into Slytherin too,” Drew confessed.

“Wait what!” shouted Harry as Drew covered Harry's mouth. He looked around to see if anyone had woken up.

After that, he continued, “Actually, I was—uhh—considered to be sorted—into all houses—so—yeah—uhh—surprise?” “I thought I was the only one,” said Harry.

“And you're not. You know, you should do some research before do the guessing,” Harry snickered. Suddenly, Harry hugged Drew. “I'm glad that we are friends,” It was a nice feeling; a warm feeling.

“So am I, Harry. So am I...” said Drew as he hugged Harry back. As Drew let go of Harry, Drew felt his lip was now on Harry's.

Drew turned beet red. When Harry realized what he was just doing, his cheek turned pink.

“What did I just do? I'm so sorry. I promise, I—” “You don't have to be sorry,” said Drew. “I don't?” “So, you like me?” said Drew quietly.

Now, Harry's face was blushing madly. “Since when?” asked Drew. “S-since the day I first met you,” said Harry hesitantly. “I mean—who wouldn't want you?—You're smart—brave—and handsome,” Now, it's Drew's turn to blush. “T-thank you, Harry,”

“What about Hermione?” said Harry. “Aren't you two a couple?” “Oh, about that—we kinda—broke up last week. Don't get me wrong, my feelings towards her had reduced and she took it very well,” said Drew.

“What about your family?” asked Harry. “They said as long as I'm happy, they will be fine with it,” “So, we are boyfriends now?” said Harry, looking excited. “Hmmm, let me think...Yes,” said Drew as Harry was jumping in excitement.

Harry then kissed Drew passionately. After they had finished snogging, Drew decided that he will sleep in Harry's bed which made Harry more happier.

By next morning, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was canceled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

Harry and Drew told Ron and Hermione that they are a couple now. Ron fainted and Hermione squealed like a fan-girl.

Harry and Drew fretted about this next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of wizard chess.

“For heaven’s sake, Harry,” said Hermione, exasperated, as one of Ron’s bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board. “Go and find Justin if it’s so important to you.” “Do you want me to come with you?” asked Drew. Harry nodded.

So Harry and Drew got up and left through the portrait hole, wondering where Justin might be.

The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime because of the thick, swirling gray snow at every window.

Harry noticed Drew was shivering so he hugged him to keep him warm. They walked past classrooms where lessons were taking place, catching snatches of what was happening within.

Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger.

Resisting the urge to take a look, Harry and Drew walked on by, thinking that Justin might be using his free time to catch up on some work, and deciding to check the library first.

A group of the Hufflepuffs who should have been in Herbology were indeed sitting at the back of the library, but they didn’t seem to be working.

Between the long lines of high bookshelves, Harry and Drew could see that their heads were close together and they were having what looked like an absorbing conversation.

They couldn’t see whether Justin was among them. They was walking toward them when something of what they were saying met his ears, and they paused to listen, hidden in the Invisibility section.

“So anyway,” a stout boy was saying, “I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter’s marked him down as his next victim, it’s best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he’d been down for Eton. That’s not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin’s heir on the loose, is it?”

“You definitely think it is Potter, then, Ernie?” said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously. “Hannah,” said the stout boy solemnly, “he’s a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that’s the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue.”

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on, “Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. Potter had some sort of run in with Filch. Next thing we know, Flich’s cat’s attacked. That first year, Creevey, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was carrying his friend to the Hospital Wing. Next thing we know—Creevey’s been attacked.”

“He always seems so nice, though,” said Hannah uncertainly, “and, well, he’s the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can’t be all bad, can he?”

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and the lovebirds edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie’s words.

“No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that.” He dropped his voice until it was barely more than a whisper, and said, “That’s probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place. Didn’t want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter’s been hiding?”

Harry and Drew couldn’t take it anymore. Clearing their throat loudly, they stepped out from behind the bookshelves.

If they hadn’t been feeling so angry, they would have found the sight that greeted him funny: Every one of the Hufflepuffs looked as though they had been Petrified by the sight of Harry, and the color was draining out of Ernie’s face.

“Hello,” said Harry. “I’m looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley.” The Hufflepuffs’ worst fears had clearly been confirmed. They all looked fearfully at Ernie.

“What do you want with him?” said Ernie in a quavering voice. “I wanted to tell him what really happened with that snake at the Dueling Club,” said Harry.

Ernie bit his white lips and then, taking a deep breath, said, “We were all there. We saw what happened.” “Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?” said Harry.

“All I saw,” said Ernie stubbornly, though he was trembling as he spoke, “was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin.” “Are you fucking blind! If it wasn't for Harry, that ungrateful son of a bitch would be dead by now!” Drew bursted out. “The snake didn't even touch him!”

“It was a very near miss,” said Ernie. “And in case he's getting ideas,” he added hastily, “I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood’s as pure as anyone’s, so—”

“I don’t care what sort of blood you’ve got!” said Harry fiercely. “Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?” “I’ve heard you hate those Muggles you live with,” said Ernie swiftly.

“It’s not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them,” said Harry. “I’d like to see you try it.” “Bitch,” added Drew.

They turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, earning himself a reproving glare from Madam Pince, who was polishing the gilded cover of a large spellbook.

Harry and Drew blundered up the corridor, barely noticing where they were going, they were in such a fury.

The result was that they walked into something very large and solid, which knocked them backward onto the floor.

“Oh, hello, Hagrid,” Harry said, looking up. Hagrid’s face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow covered balaclava, but it couldn’t possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat.

A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands.

“All righ’, Harry, Drew,” he said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. “Why aren’t yeh two in class?”

“Canceled,” said Harry and Drew, getting up. “What’re you doing in here?” said Harry. Hagrid held up the limp rooster.

“Second one killed this term,” he explained. “It’s either foxes or a Blood Suckin Bugbear, an’ I need the Headmaster’s permission ter put a charm around the hen coop.”

He peered more closely at Harry and Drew from under his thick, snow flecked eyebrows. “Yeh sure yeh’re all righ’? Yeh look all hot an’ bothered—”

Drew couldn’t bring himself to repeat what Ernie and the rest of the Hufflepuffs had been saying about Harry.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “we'd better get going, Hagrid, it’s Transfiguration next and we’ve got to pick up my books.” they walked off, Drew was still thinking about what Ernie had said. “ _Justin’s been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born…_ ”

Harry and Drew stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane.

They were halfway down the passage when Harry tripped headlong over something lying on the floor.

Drew turned to squint at what Harry had fallen over and felt as though his stomach had dissolved.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

And that wasn’t all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight they had ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor.

His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin’s.

Drew helped Harry getting to his feet. He looked very disturbed and so did Drew.

Drew wasn't sure what to do. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side.

They could run, and no one would ever know they had been there. But they couldn’t just leave them lying here… they had to get help… Would anyone believe Harry hadn’t had anything to do with this?

As he stood there, panicking, a door right next to him opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out. “Why, it’s potty wee Potter!” cackled Peeves, knocking Harry’s glasses askew as he bounced past him. When he saw Drew was glaring at him, “I mean, Harry Pott—”

Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick.

He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and, before Harry and Drew could stop him, screamed, “ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!”

Crash—crash—crash—door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick.

Harry and Drew found themselves pinned against the wall as the teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black and white striped hair.

She used her wand to set off aloud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes. No sooner had the scene cleared somewhat than Ernie the Hufflepuff arrived, panting, on the scene.

“Caught in the act!” Ernie yelled, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry. “Oh, shut up, you piece of shit!” “That will do, Macmillan, Halliwell!” said Professor McGonagall sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. When he saw Drew's eyes, he just realized who he had upset.

The teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick.

In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft.

This left Harry, Drew and Professor McGonagall alone together. “This way, Potter,” she said. “Professor,” said Harry at once, “I swear I didn't do it,” “Professor, I am with Harry, he is innocent,” “This is out of my hands, Halliwell,” said Professor McGonagall curtly.

They marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a familiar stone gargoyle. It was Professor Dumbledore's office. Drew had visited his office last year. “Lemon drop!” she said.

The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. As they and Professor McGonagall stepped onto the escalator that was moving smoothly upward, Harry and Drew heard the wall thud closed behind them.

They rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry and Drew saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

 _'Memories,'_ thought Drew.


	10. Expect The Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drew's first time celebrating Christmas and his birthday with his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

They stepped off the stone staircase at the top, and Professor McGonagall rapped on the door. It opened silently and they entered.

Professor McGonagall told Harry and Drew to wait and left them there, alone together.

Harry and Drew looked around. Drew did not have the chance to explore the room last year. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises.

A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke.

The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames.

There was also an enormous, claw footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard’s hat—the Sorting Hat.

“Harry, what are you doing?” asked Drew as Harry walked quietly around the desk, lifted the hat from its shelf. “I just want to check things out.” said Harry as he lowered the hat slowly onto his head.

It was much too large and slipped down over his eyes, just as it had done the last time he’d put it on.

After a minute, Harry pushed the hat back onto its shelf. “You’re wrong,” he said aloud to the still and silent hat. It didn’t move. Harry backed away, watching it.

“Harry, are you ok?” asked Drew worriedly. Then a strange, gagging noise behind them made them wheel around. They weren’t alone after all.

Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit looking bird that resembled a half plucked turkey.

Drew stared at it and the bird looked balefully back, making its gagging noise again. Drew thought it looked very ill.

Its eyes were dull and, even as they watched, a couple more feathers fell out of its tail.

Suddenly, the bird burst into flames. Harry yelled in shock and backed away into the desk. However, Drew looked very calmed and smiled when he saw Harry's panicky face, the bird, meanwhile, had become a fireball; it gave one loud shriek and next second there was nothing but a smouldering pile of ash on the floor.

The office door opened. Dumbledore came in, looking very somber. “Professor,” Harry gasped. “Your bird—I couldn’t do anything—he just caught fire—”

To Harry’s astonishment, Dumbledore smiled and so did Drew. “About time, too,” he said. “Fawkes has been looking dreadful for days; I’ve been telling him to get a move on.” He chuckled at the stunned look on Harry’s face.

“That is a phoenix, Harry. Phoenixes burst into flame when it is time for them to die and are reborn from the ashes.” explained Drew. “You are right, Mr. Halliwell. Watch him…”

Harry and Drew looked down in time to see a tiny, wrinkled, newborn bird poke its head out of the ashes. It was quite as ugly as the old one.

“It’s a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day,” said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. “He’s really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets.”

In the shock of Fawkes catching fire, Harry and Drew had forgotten what they were there for, but it all came back to them as Dumbledore settled himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed the boys with his penetrating, light blue stare.

Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging from his hand.

“It wasn’ Harry or Drew, Professor Dumbledore!” said Hagrid urgently. “I was talkin’ ter them seconds before that kid was found, they never had time, sir—”

Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers everywhere.

“it can’t’ve bin them, I’ll swear it in front o’ the Ministry o’ Magic if I have to—” “Hagrid, I—” “—yeh’ve got the wrong boys, sir, I know they never—”

“Hagrid!” said Dumbledore loudly. “I do not think that Harry or Drew or both attacked those people.” “Oh,” said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. “Right. I’ll wait outside then, Headmaster.”

And he stomped out looking embarrassed. “You don’t think it was one of us, Professor?” Harry repeated hopefully as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk. “No, Harry, I don’t,” said Dumbledore, though his face was somber again. “But I still want to talk to both of you.”

Drew slightly nodded and Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers together. “I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you’d like to tell me,” he said gently. “Anything at all.”

Drew looked at Harry and wondered whether he will tell Dumbledore about the voice he had heard twice and their plan about breaking into the Slytherin common room.

“No,” said Harry. “There isn’t anything, Professor…” Then, Dumbledore looked at Drew. “I have nothing to say, Professor,” said Drew.

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick’s fate that seemed to worry people most.

What could possibly do that to a ghost? people asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead?

There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas.

“At this rate, we’ll be the only ones left,” Ron told Harry, Drew and Hermione. “Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it’s going to be.”

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too. But Drew was glad that most people were leaving.

He was tired of people skirting around Harry in the corridors. However, the chances for an attack to happen were low since most of the muggle-born were going back to their home.

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, “Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through…”

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior. “It is not a laughing matter,” he said coldly. “Oh, get out of the way, Percy,” said Fred. “Harry’s in a hurry.” “Yeah, he’s off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant,” said George, chortling.

Ginny didn’t find it amusing either. “Oh, don’t,” she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met.

Drew almost punch the twins when Harry stopped him. Harry actually did not mind but Drew did. But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

“It’s because he’s bursting to say it’s really him,” said Ron knowingly. “You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you’re getting all the credit for his dirty work.”

“Not for long,” said Hermione in a satisfied tone. “The Polyjuice Potion’s nearly ready. We’ll be getting the truth out of him any day now.” “Nice,” said Drew.

At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Drew found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact that he, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys had the run of Gryffindor Tower, which meant they could play Exploding Snap loudly without bothering anyone, and practice dueling in private.

Fred, George, and Ginny had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Percy, who disapproved of what he termed their childish behavior, didn’t spend much time in the Gryffindor common room.

He had already told them pompously that he was only staying over Christmas because it was his duty as a prefect to support the teachers during this troubled time.

Dylan also stayed at school because he wanted to celebrate Christmas and his birthday with his older brother together. Drew and Dylan wrote a letter to their youngest brother, Damien, to told him Merry Birthday too.

Christmas morning dawned, cold and white. Harry, Drew and Ron, the only ones left in their dormitory, were woken very early by Hermione, who burst in, fully dressed and carrying presents for them both.

“Wake up,” she said loudly, pulling back the curtains at the window. “Hermione—you’re not supposed to be in here—” said Ron, shielding his eyes against the light. “Merry Christmas to you, too,” said Hermione, throwing him his present. “And in your case, Drew. Merry Birthday, I've been up for nearly an hour, adding more lacewings to the potion. It’s ready.”

Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake. “Are you sure?” “Positive,” said Hermione, shifting Scabbers the rat so that she could sit down on the end of Ron’s four-poster. “If we’re going to do it, I say it should be tonight.”

At that moment, Harry's snow-owl, Hedwig, swooped into the room, carrying a very small package in her beak. “Hello,” said Harry happily as she landed on his bed. “Are you speaking to me again?”

She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way, which was a far better present than the one that she had brought him, which turned out to be from the Dursleys.

They had sent Harry a toothpick and a note telling him to find out whether he’d be able to stay at Hogwarts for the summer vacation, too.

Cuddles also brought presents for Drew too. “Good girl,” said Drew. “Cookie!” Now, there was a cookie on Drew's hand.

He fed it to her and Cuddles then flew out of the room. Drew got a long, comfortable scarf from his grandma Piper, a map and a crystal from his Dad.

He also got one of the books from his most favourite fiction book franchise ever: The Kingdom of Fantasy from his uncle Wyatt.

“Yes! I just need one more book, then my collection is finished,” said Drew. “Why did your Dad send you those?” asked Hermione as she pointed the crystal and the map. “We used them for scrying, that means if someone is missing, we can find them using these”

“Harry, this is for you,” said Drew as he gave the present to Harry. He opened it and inside there was a trophy. Below, it wrote, _ **'The Best Boyfriend Ever'**_. “So...Do you like it? I made it myself,” asked Drew. “Like it? I love it!” said Harry happily. Drew blushed.

“And this is for you, Drew,” said Harry. Drew opened his Christmas-Birthday present. There was a chocolate cake and a note. Drew read the note first.

“Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday,

Our love will not decay,

Hoping that all your wishes comes true,

and your birthday cake is as sweet as you!”

“I know it's not much but—” “Thank you so much, Harry, I really do,” said Drew as he hugged Harry and kissed his cheek. Hermione smiled and Ron looked like he was going to be sick.

“Ok, stop that, you're making me sick,” said Ron. “Where's my present?” Drew gave a Quaffle with Ron's favourite Quidditch team—Chudley Cannon's players' signatures on it.

“Bloody hell, but how—” “I have my own reason,” said Drew proudly. “And this is for Hermione,” Drew gave a book about riddles and puzzles to her. “Thanks, Drew,”

Drew got a five thousands pieces puzzle from Hermione. Ron gave a book of interesting facts about his favorite Quidditch team, and Hagrid had bought him a leather jacket.

Drew opened the last present to find a new, hand knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a large plum cake. Harry and Ron also got the same sweater too.

Drew had bought Dylan a pet cat. He named her Dolores Wendy Halliwell and Dylan gave his brother a birthday wish, he wished that Drew will have a happy life.

No one, not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later, could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling.

Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed.

Percy, who hadn’t noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read “Pinhead,” kept asking them all what they were sniggering at.

Drew didn’t even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. With a bit of luck, Malfoy would be getting his comeuppance in a few hours’ time.

Harry, Drew and Ron had barely finished their third helpings of Christmas pudding when Hermione ushered them out of the hall to finalize their plans for the evening.

“We still need a bit of the people you’re changing into,” said Hermione matter of factly, as though she were sending them to the supermarket for laundry detergent. “And obviously, it’ll be best if you can get something of Crabbe’s and Goyle’s; they’re Malfoys best friends, he’ll tell them anything. And we also need to make sure the real Crabbe and Goyle can’t burst in on us while we’re interrogating him.

“I’ve got it all worked out,” she went on smoothly, ignoring Harry's, Drew's and Ron’s stupefied faces. She held up two plump chocolate cakes. “I’ve filled these with a simple Sleeping Draught. All you have to do is make sure Crabbe and Goyle find them. You know how greedy they are, they’re bound to eat them. Once they’re asleep, pull out a few of their hairs and hide them in a broom closet.”

Harry and Ron looked incredulously at each other. “Hermione, I don’t think—” “That could go seriously wrong—” “What? Chicken?” teased Drew, then he made a chicken sound. Harry and Ron clearly looked insulted.

But Hermione had a steely glint in her eye not unlike the one Professor McGonagall sometimes had. “The potion will be useless without Crabbe’s and Goyle’s hair,” she said sternly. “You do want to investigate Malfoy, don’t you?”

“Oh, all right, all right,” said Harry. “But what about you? Whose hair are you ripping out?” “I’ve already got mine!” said Hermione brightly, pulling a tiny bottle out of her pocket and showing them the single hair inside it. “Remember Millicent Bulstrode wrestling with me at the Dueling Club? She left this on my robes when she was trying to strangle me! And she’s gone home for Christmas—so I’ll just have to tell the Slytherins I’ve decided to come back.”

“What about me?” asked Drew. “Oh, I almost forgot,” said Hermione. Drew face-palmed. “This is Blaise Zabini's hair,” said Hermione. “I manage to get it without him or anyone else noticing,”

When Hermione had bustled off to check on the Polyjuice Potion again, Ron turned to Harry and Drew with a doom-laden expression. “Have you ever heard of a plan where so many things could go wrong?” “A lot,” said Drew, remembering a bunch of plans about vanquishing demons that could go wrong. 

To Harry’s and Ron’s utter amazement, stage one of the operation went just as smoothly as Hermione had said.

They lurked in the deserted entrance hall after Christmas tea, waiting for Crabbe and Goyle who had remained alone at the Slytherin table, shoveling down fourth helpings of trifle.

Harry had perched the chocolate cakes on the end of the banisters. When they spotted Crabbe and Goyle coming out of the Great Hall, Harry, Drew and Ron hid quickly behind a suit of armor next to the front door.

“How thick can you get?” Ron whispered ecstatically as Crabbe gleefully pointed out the cakes to Goyle and grabbed them.

Grinning stupidly, they stuffed the cakes whole into their large mouths. For a moment, both of them chewed greedily, looks of triumph on their faces.

Then, without the smallest change of expression, they both keeled over backward onto the floor.

Harry yanked out a couple of the bristles that covered Goyle’s forehead and Ron pulled out several of Crabbe’s hairs. Then, Drew orbed them in the closet.

Harry and Ron also stole their shoes, because their own were far too small for Crabbe and Goyle-size feet. Still stunned at what they had just done, they sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

They could hardly see for the thick black smoke issuing from the stall in which Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up over their faces, Harry, Drew and Ron knocked softly on the door.

“Hermione?” They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shinyfaced and looking anxious. Behind her they heard the gloop gloop of the bubbling, glutinous potion. Four glass tumblers stood ready on the toilet seat.

“Did you get them?” Hermione asked breathlessly. Harry showed her Goyle’s hair. “Good. And I sneaked these spare robes out of the laundry,” Hermione said, holding up a small sack. “You’ll need bigger sizes once you’re Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle.”

The four of them stared into the cauldron. Close up, the potion looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling sluggishly.

“I’m sure I’ve done everything right,” said Hermione, nervously rereading the splotched page of Moste Potente Potions. “It looks like the book says it should… once we’ve drunk it, we’ll have exactly an hour before we change back into ourselves.” “Now what?” Ron whispered. “We separate it into four glasses and add the hairs.”

Hermione ladled large dollops of the potion into each of the glasses. Then, her hand trembling, she shook Millicent Bulstrode’s hair out of its bottle into the first glass.

The potion hissed loudly like a boiling kettle and frothed madly. A second later, it had turned a sick sort of yellow. “Urgh—essence of Millicent Bulstrode,” said Ron, eyeing it with loathing. “Bet it tastes disgusting.” “Add yours, then,” said Hermione.

Drew dropped Blaise's hair into the second glass while Harry dropped Goyle's into the third glass and Ron put Crabbe’s into the last one. All three glasses hissed and frothed: Goyle’s turned the khaki color of a booger, Crabbe’s a dark, murky brown and Blaise's a mixture of green and brown.

“Hang on,” said Harry as Ron and Hermione reached for their glasses. “We’d better not all drink them in here…Blaise is skinny but once both of us turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won’t fit. And Millicent Bulstrode’s no pixie.”

“Good thinking,” said Ron, unlocking the door. “We’ll take separate stalls.”

Careful not to spill a drop of his Polyjuice Potion, Drew slipped into the first stall he saw. “Ready?” Harry called. “Ready,” came Ron’s, Drew's and Hermione’s voices.

“One—two—three—” Pinching his nose, Drew drank the potion down and swallowed it quickly. It tasted like swamp water.

Immediately, his insides started writhing as though he’d just swallowed live snakes—doubled up, he wondered whether he was going to be sick—then a burning sensation spread rapidly from his stomach to the very ends of his fingers and toes—next, bringing him gasping to all fours, came a horrible melting feeling, as the skin all over his body bubbled like hot wax—and before his eyes, his skin turned brown, his hands began to grow slightly and his hair became shorter—his body grew and grew—his feet perfectly fit in his shoes.

As suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Drew sit on the toilet, listening to Myrtle gurgling morosely in the end toilet.

So this was what it felt like, being Blaise. With his hand trembling, he pulled off his old robes, which were hanging a foot above his ankles and pulled on the spare ones.

Then he realized that his glasses were clouding his eyes because Blaise obviously didn’t need them—he took them off and suddenly he heard Harry called, “Are you two okay?” Goyle’s low rasp of a voice issued from his mouth.

“Yeah,” came the deep grunt of Crabbe from his left. Drew and Ron unlocked their doors and saw Harry was in front of the cracked mirror.

They stared at each other. Except that he looked pale and shocked, Ron was indistinguishable from Crabbe, from the pudding bowl haircut to the long, gorilla arms.

“This is unbelievable,” said Ron, approaching the mirror and prodding Crabbe’s flat nose. “Unbelievable.“ “This is weird,” said Drew, touching Blaise's hair. "this is very weird..."

“We’d better get going,” said Harry, loosening the watch that was cutting into Goyle’s thick wrist. “We’ve still got to find out where the Slytherin common room is. I only hope we can find someone to follow…”

Ron, who had been gazing at Harry, said, “You don’t know how bizarre it is to see Goyle thinking.” He banged on Hermione’s door. “C’mon, we need to go—”

A high pitched voice answered him. “I—I don’t think I’m going to come after all. You go on without me.” “Hermione, we know Millicent Bulstrode’s ugly, no one’s going to know it’s you—” “No—really—I don’t think I’ll come. You three hurry up, you’re wasting time—”

Harry looked at Ron and Drew, bewildered. “That looks more like Goyle,” said Ron. “That’s how he looks every time a teacher asks him a question.” “Hermione, are you okay?” said Harry through the door. “Fine—I’m fine—go on—”

Harry looked at his watch. Five of their precious sixty minutes had already passed. “We’ll meet you back here, all right?” he said.

Harry, Drew and Ron opened the door of the bathroom carefully, checked that the coast was clear, and set off.

“Don’t swing your arms like that,” Harry muttered to Ron. “Eh?” “Crabbe holds them sort of stiff…” “How’s this?” “Yeah, that’s better…” “We better do this quickly, I can't stand seeing you two like this,” said Drew.

They went down the marble staircase. All they needed now was a Slytherin that they could follow to the Slytherin common room, but there was nobody around.

“Any ideas?” muttered Harry. “The Slytherins always come up to breakfast from over there,” said Ron, nodding at the entrance to the dungeons.

The words had barely left his mouth when a girl with long, curly hair emerged from the entrance.

“Excuse me,” said Ron, hurrying up to her. “We’ve forgotten the way to our common room.” “I beg your pardon?” said the girl stiffly. “Our common room? I’m a Ravenclaw.” She walked away, looking suspiciously back at them.

Harry, Drew and Ron hurried down the stone steps into the darkness, Harry's and Ron's footsteps echoing particularly loudly as Crabbe’s and Goyle’s huge feet hit the floor, feeling that this wasn’t going to be as easy as they had hoped.

The labyrinthine passages were deserted. They walked deeper and deeper under the school, constantly checking their watches to see how much time they had left.

After a quarter of an hour, just when they were getting desperate, they heard a sudden movement ahead.

“Ha!” said Ron excitedly. “There’s one of them now!” The figure was emerging from a side room. As they hurried nearer, however, their hearts sank. It wasn’t a Slytherin, it was Percy.

“What’re you doing down here?” said Ron in surprise. Percy looked affronted. “That,” he said stiffly, “is none of your business. It’s Crabbe, isn’t it?”

“Wh—oh, yeah,” said Ron. “Well, get off to your dormitories,” said Percy sternly. “It’s not safe to go wandering around dark corridors these days.”

“You are,” Ron pointed out. “I,” said Percy, drawing himself up, “am a prefect. Nothing’s about to attack me.”

A voice suddenly echoed behind Harry, Drew and Ron. Draco Malfoy was strolling toward them, and for the first time in his life, Drew was pleased to see him.

“There you are,” he drawled, looking at them. “Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? Blaise? Why are you here? I thought you went back home.” “My parents h-have business with Dumbledore, so I will stay here for a while,” said Drew nervously.

“By the way, I’ve been looking for you two; I want to show you something really funny, you can come too, Blaise.”

Malfoy glanced witheringly at Percy. “And what’re you doing down here, Weasley?” he sneered. Percy looked outraged. “You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!” he said. “I don’t like your attitude!”

Malfoy sneered and motioned for Harry, Drew and Ron to follow him. Drew almost wanted to punch Malfoy but caught himself just in time.

He, Harry and Ron hurried after Malfoy, who said as they turned into the next passage, “That Peter Weasley—”

“Percy,” Ron corrected him automatically. “Whatever,” said Malfoy. “I’ve noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he’s up to. He thinks he’s going to catch Slytherin’s heir single handed.” He gave a short, derisive laugh. Harry, Drew and Ron exchanged excited looks.

Malfoy paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall. “What’s the new password again?” he said to Harry. _'Fuck,'_ Drew thought. “Er—” said Harry. “Oh, yeah—pure blood!” said Malfoy, not listening, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, and Harry, Drew and Ron followed him.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains.

A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in high backed chairs.

“Wait here,” said Malfoy to Harry, Drew and Ron, motioning them to a pair of empty chairs set back from the fire. “I’ll go and get it—my father’s just sent it to me—”

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Harry, Drew and Ron sat down, doing their best to look at home. Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a newspaper clipping. He thrust it under Ron’s nose.

“That’ll give you a laugh,” he said. Harry and Drew saw Ron’s eyes widen in shock. He read the clipping quickly, gave a very forced laugh, and handed it to Harry and Drew.

It had been clipped out of the Daily Prophet, and it said:

_INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC_

_Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car._

_Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley’s resignation._

_“Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute,” Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. “He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately.”_

_Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she’d set the family ghoul on them._

“Well?” said Malfoy impatiently as Harry handed the clipping back to him. “Don’t you think it’s funny?” Drew bursted out laughing forcefully. “Ha, ha,” said Harry bleakly.

“Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them,” said Malfoy scornfully. “You’d never know the Weasleys were pure bloods, the way they behave.”

Drew who was still laughing, said, “That wasn't funny, that's hilarious!” Harry and Ron saw a black, fluffy cloud was floating on the ceiling of the common room. “I know right,” said Malfoy.

Ron’s—or rather, Crabbe’s—face was contorted with fury. “What’s up with you, Crabbe?” snapped Malfoy. “Stomachache,” Ron grunted. “Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me,” said Malfoy, snickering. “You know, I’m surprised the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported all these attacks yet,” he went on thoughtfully.

“I suppose Dumbledore’s trying to hush it all up. He’ll be sacked if it doesn’t stop soon. Father’s always said old Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never’ve let slime like that Creevey in.”

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: “‘ _Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?_ ’” Drew forced himself to laugh immediately.

Malfoy dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron. “What’s the matter with you two?”

Far too late, Harry and Ron forced themselves to laugh, but Malfoy seemed satisfied; perhaps Crabbe and Goyle were always slow on the uptake.

“Saint Potter, the Mudbloods’ friend,” said Malfoy slowly. “He’s another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn’t go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he’s Slytherin’s heir!”

Harry, Drew and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds away from telling them it was him—but then “I wish I knew who it is,” said Malfoy petulantly. “I could help them.”

Ron’s jaw dropped so that Crabbe looked even more clueless than usual. Fortunately, Malfoy didn’t notice, and Harry, thinking fast, said, “You must have some idea who’s behind it all…”

“You know I haven’t, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?” snapped Malfoy. “And Father won’t tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it’ll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing—last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it’s a matter of time before one of them’s killed this time… I hope it’s Granger,” he said with relish.

“You piece of—I mean, why don't you hope for all—gulps—m-mudb-blood to die?” stuttered Drew forcefully. “We'll see,” said Malfoy.

Ron was clenching Crabbe’s gigantic fists. Feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Harry shot him a warning look and said, “D’you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?”

“Oh, yeah… whoever it was expelled,” said Malfoy. “They’re probably still in Azkaban.” “Azkaban?” said Harry, puzzled. “Azkaban—the wizard prison, Goyle,” said Malfoy, looking at him in disbelief. “Honestly, if you were any slower, you’d be going backward.”

He shifted restlessly in his chair and said, “Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he’s got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?”

Harry tried to force Goyle’s dull face into a look of concern. “Yeah…” said Malfoy. “Luckily, they didn’t find much. Father’s got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we’ve got our own secret chamber under the drawing room floor—”

“Ho!” said Ron. Malfoy looked at him. So did Harry and Drew. Ron blushed. Even his hair was turning red. His nose was also slowly lengthening—their hour was up, Ron was turning back into himself, and from the look of horror he was suddenly giving Harry and Drew, they must be, too.

“Goodbye, Draco—uhhh—I gotta go,” said Drew. The three of them jumped to their feet. “Medicine for my stomach,” Ron grunted, and without further ado they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled themselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping against hope that Malfoy hadn’t noticed anything.

Drew had to hoist up his robes as he shrank; they crashed up the steps into the dark entrance hall, which was full of a muffled pounding coming from the closet where they’d locked Crabbe and Goyle.

Leaving their shoes outside the closet door, Harry and Ron sprinted in their socks up the marble staircase toward Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

“Well, it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” Ron panted, closing the bathroom door behind them. “I know we still haven’t found out who’s doing the attacks, but I’m going to write to Dad tomorrow and tell him to check under the Malfoys’ drawing room.”

Drew checked his face in the cracked mirror. He was back to normal. Harry and Drew put their glasses on as Ron hammered on the door of Hermione’s stall.

“Hermione, come out, we’ve got loads to tell you—” “Go away!” Hermione squeaked. Harry, Drew and Ron looked at each other. “What’s the matter?” said Ron. “You must be back to normal by now, we are—”

But Moaning Myrtle glided suddenly through the stall door. Drew had never seen her looking so happy. “Ooooooh, wait till you see,” she said. “It’s awful—”

They heard the lock slide back and Hermione emerged, sobbing, her robes pulled up over her head. “What’s up?” said Ron uncertainly. “Have you still got Millicent’s nose or something?”

Hermione let her robes fall and Ron backed into the sink. Her face was covered in black fur. Her eyes had turned yellow and there were long, pointed ears poking through her hair.

“It was a c-cat hair!” she howled. “M-Millicent Bulstrode m-must have a cat! And the p-potion isn’t supposed to be used for animal transformations!”

“Uh oh,” said Ron. “Oh my God,” said Drew. “You’ll be teased something dreadful,” said Myrtle happily. “It’s okay, Hermione,” said Harry quickly. “We’ll take you up to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey never asks too many questions…”

It took a long time to persuade Hermione to leave the bathroom. Moaning Myrtle sped them on their way with a hearty guffaw. “Wait till everyone finds out you’ve got a tail!”


	11. The Wizard's Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drew went inside Tom's diary with Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

Hermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of rumor about her disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been attacked.

So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Hermione’s bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face.

Harry, Drew and Ron went to visit her every evening. When the new term started, they brought her each day’s homework.

“If I’d sprouted whiskers, I’d take a break from work,” said Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione’s bedside table one evening.

“Don’t be silly, Ron, I’ve got to keep up,” said Hermione briskly. Her spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown.

“I think I like you better in your cat form,” said Drew. “Don't say that or I scratch you,” said Hermione jokingly. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any new leads?” she added in a whisper, so that Madam Pomfrey couldn’t hear her.

“Nothing,” said Harry gloomily. “I was so sure it was Malfoy,” said Ron. “Ron, you told us that for about a thousand time.

“What’s that?” asked Harry, pointing to something gold sticking out from under Hermione’s pillow.

“Just a get well card,” said Hermione hastily, trying to poke it out of sight, but Ron was too quick for her. He pulled it out, flicked it open, and read aloud:

_“To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award.”_

Drew sighed and Ron looked up at Hermione, disgusted. “You sleep with this under your pillow?”

But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine.

“Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you’ve ever met, or what?” Ron said to Harry and Drew as they left the infirmary and started up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower.

Snape had given them so much homework, but Drew had finished it before the day ended. Harry and Ron envied him.

Ron was just saying he wished he had asked Hermione how many rat tails you were supposed to add to a Hair Raising Potion when an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears.

“That’s Filch,” Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard. “You don’t think someone else’s been attacked?” said Ron tensely. “I hope not,” said Drew.

They stood still, their heads inclined toward Flich’s voice, which sounded quite hysterical. “—even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven’t got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I’m going to Dumbledore—”

His footsteps receded along the out of sight corridor and they heard a distant door slam. They poked their heads around the corner.

Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked.

They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle’s wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Now what’s up with her?” said Ron. “Let’s go and see,” said Harry, and holding their robes over their ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its _**OUT OF ORDER**_ sign, ignored it as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. 

It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

“What’s up, Myrtle?” said Harry. “Who’s that?” glugged Myrtle miserably. “Come to throw something else at me?” Harry waded across to her stall and said, “Why would I throw something at you?”

“Don’t ask me,” Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. “Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’s funny to throw a book at me…”

“But it can’t hurt you if someone throws something at you,” said Harry, reasonably. “I mean, it’d just go right through you, wouldn’t it?”

He had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, “Let’s all throw books at Myrtle, because she can’t feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don’t think!”

“Who threw it at you, anyway?” asked Harry. “I don’t know…I was just sitting in the U bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,” said Myrtle, glaring at them. “It’s over there, it got washed out…”

Harry, Drew and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom.

Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.

“What?” said Harry. “Are you crazy?” said Ron. “It could be dangerous.” “Dangerous?” said Harry, laughing. “Come off it, how could it be dangerous?”

“You’d be surprised,” said Ron, who was looking apprehensively at the book. “Some of the books the Ministry’s confiscated Dad’s told me—there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one handed. And—” Drew then picked the book up.

“Drew, what are you doing!” said Ron, looking afraid. “Oh, don't be a scaredy-cat, nothing have happen to me, right?” said Drew casually. “Yet,” added Ron.

“Can you give me the book, Drew?” said Harry and Drew gave it to Harry. They saw it at once that it was a diary, and the faded year on the cover told him it was fifty years old.

He opened it eagerly. On the first page he could just make out the name _“T.M. Riddle”_ in smudged ink. “Hang on,” said Ron, who had approached cautiously and was looking over Harry’s shoulder. “I know that name…T.M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago.”

“How on earth d’you know that?” said Harry in amazement. “Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention,” said Ron resentfully. “That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you’d wiped slime off a name for an hour, you’d remember it, too.”

Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn’t the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even a dot.

“He never wrote in it,” said Harry, disappointed. “I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?” said Ron curiously. “Maybe that _' s_ _omeone_ _'_ found out the diary was blank and got bored so that ' _someone_ ' got rid of it,” said Drew.

Harry turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London. “He must’ve been Muggle-born,” said Harry thoughtfully. “To have bought a diary from Vauxhall Road…”

“Well, it’s not much use to you,” said Ron. He dropped his voice. “Fifty points if you can get it through Myrtle’s nose.”

Drew then gave him a low-voltage electric shock. “Ow! Drew, that hurts!” exclaimed Ron as Harry put the diary inside his pocket.

Hermione left the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tail-less, and fur-free, at the beginning of February. On her first evening back in Gryffindor Tower, Harry showed her T.M. Riddle’s diary and told her the story of how they had found it. They also showed Peter about it.

“Oooh, it might have hidden powers,” said Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and looking at it closely.

“If it has, it’s hiding them very well,” said Ron. “Maybe it’s shy. I don’t know why you don’t chuck it, Harry.”

“Magic or not, this diary must have something important in it,” said Peter. “We had told you, there's nothing written in this diary.” said Ron.

“I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it,” said Harry. “I wouldn’t mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts either.”

“Could’ve been anything,” said Ron. “Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would’ve done everyone a favor…”

Drew threw a tiny fireball at Ron. “Drew! You would've set me on fire!” said Ron angrily.

Drew could tell from the arrested look on Hermione’s face that she was thinking what he was thinking. “What?” said Ron, looking from one to the other.

“Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn’t it?” Harry said. “That’s what Malfoy said.” “Yeah…” said Ron slowly. “And this diary is fifty years old,” said Hermione, tapping it excitedly. “So?”

Drew and Peter face-palmed. “Oh, Ron, wake up,” snapped Hermione. “We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything—where the Chamber is, and how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it—the person who’s behind the attacks this time wouldn’t want that lying around, would they?”

“That’s a brilliant theory, Hermione,” said Ron, “with just one tiny little flaw. There’s nothing written in his diary.” But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag. “It might be invisible ink!” she whispered.

She tapped the diary three times and said, “Aparecium!” Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into her bag and pulled out what appeared to be a bright red eraser.

“It’s a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley,” she said. She rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing to find in there,” said Ron. “Riddle just got a diary for Christmas and couldn’t be bothered filling it in.”

Although the diary was blank, Harry still keep it and Drew did not like a single bit of it. Harry was obsessed about finding out more about Riddle.

On the next day at break, he headed for the trophy room to examine Riddle’s special award, accompanied by an interested Hermione and Peter, a protective Drew and a thoroughly unconvinced Ron, who told them he’d seen enough of the trophy room to last him a lifetime.

Riddle’s burnished gold shield was tucked away in a corner cabinet. It didn’t carry details of why it had been given to him (“Good thing, too, or it’d be even bigger and I’d still be polishing it,” said Ron).

However, they did find Riddle’s name on an old Medal for Magical Merit, and on a list of old Head Boys.

“He sounds like Percy,” said Ron, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Prefect, Head Boy… probably top of every class—” “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Hermione in a slightly hurt voice.

The sun had now begun to shine weakly on Hogwarts again. Inside the castle, the mood had grown more hopeful.

There had been no more attacks since those on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, and Madam Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning that they were fast leaving childhood.

“The moment their acne clears up, they’ll be ready for repotting again,” Harry and Drew heard her telling Filch kindly one afternoon. “And after that, it won’t be long until we’re cutting them up and stewing them. You’ll have Mrs. Norris back in no time.”

 _'I hope there won't be another attack,'_ Drew thought.

Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff didn’t take this cheerful view. He was still convinced that Harry was the guilty one, that he had “ _given himself away”_ at the Dueling Club. 

As days crept by, Harry and Drew's relationship was slowly noticed by everyone. “Look at those lovebirds,” said a Gryffindor. “Potter and Halliwell sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," said a Slytherin. 

Peeves wasn't helping matters; he kept popping up in the crowded corridors singing. _“Oh, Potter, you rotter…”_ now with a dance routine to match.

However, Drew had a plan; he told Peeves to meet him in one of the dungeon.

“Peeves,” called Drew calmly. “Yes, Mr. H-Halliwell?” stuttered Peeves. “Why did you sang that Harry is who petrified those people?” asked Drew coldly.

“I-It's just for fun,” “For fun? Because of you, everyone think my boyfriend was the Heir of Slytherin!” his voice turned into a murderous tone.

“I think I gave you second chances once too much,” “Please, Mr. Halliwell, don't hurt me!” cried Peeves.

Drew threw a potion at him and Peeves screamed so loud the walls are shaking. “That is a Torture Potion, it only lasted for five minutes so don't worry,” said Drew, smiling cruelly. 

After five exact minutes, Peeves stopped screaming. “Next time—” “There will be no next time, Mr. Halliwell. I swear—” “Go,” said Drew darkly and Peeves flew away without turning back.

Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to think he himself had made the attacks stop. Harry overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration.

“I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble, Minerva,” he said, tapping his nose knowingly and winking. “I think the Chamber has been locked for good this time. The culprit must have known it was only a matter of time before I caught him. Rather sensible to stop now, before I came down hard on him.”

“You know, what the school needs now is a morale booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won’t say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing…”

He tapped his nose again and strode off. Lockhart’s idea of a morale booster became clear at breakfast time on February fourteenth.

After the accident with the Bludger, Drew hesitated to ride on his broom at Quidditch practice but Harry calmed him down by kissing him on the lip.

Harry and Drew hadn’t had much sleep because of a late running Quidditch practice the night before, and they hurried down to the Great Hall, slightly late. They thought, for a moment, that they had walked through the wrong doors.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling.

Harry and Drew went over to the Gryffindor table, where Ron was sitting looking sickened, and Hermione seemed to have been overcome with giggles.

“What's going on?” Harry asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off his bacon. Drew sat down and found his apple juice had confetti on top, floating.

Ron pointed to the teachers’ table, apparently too disgusted to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence.

The teachers on either side of him were looking stony faced. From where he sat, Drew could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall’s cheek. Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele Gro.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted. “And may I thank the forty six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all—and it doesn’t end here!”

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

“Great-uncle Coop will be ashamed of this,” said Drew. “Why?” asked Harry. “He was a cupid...a real cupid,” the other three gaped at him.

“My friendly, card carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force fed poison.

“Please, Hermione, tell me you weren’t one of the forty six, said Ron as they left the Great Hall for their first lesson.

Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and didn’t answer.

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as the Gryffindors were walking upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry.

“Oy, you! ’Arry Potter!” shouted a particularly grim looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry. “Orb! Orb! Orb!” said Harry to Drew.

They tried to orb away from the dwarf but he manage to cut his way through the crowd by kicking people’s shins, jumped so high and reached them before they’d gone two paces.

Harry and Drew fell onto the floor. “Ow,” exclaimed them both. “I’ve got a musical message to deliver to ’Arry Potter in person,” he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

“Not here,” Harry hissed, trying to escape. “Stay still!” grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him back.

Drew froze the dwarf but it unfrozen a couple of seconds later. “Let me go!” Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything.

Harry and Drew scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor.

“What’s going on here?” came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical valentine.

“What’s all this commotion?” said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived. Losing his head, Harry grabbed Drew's hand and tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him and Drew crashing to the floor. “Right,” he said, sitting on Harry’s ankles. “Here is your singing valentine:

_His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,_

_His hair is as dark as a blackboard,I wish he was mine,_

_he’s really divine,_

_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord_

Drew helped Harry getting onto his feet. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

“Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” he said, shooing some of the younger students away.

“And you, Malfoy—” Harry and Drew, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something.

Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry and Drew realized that he’d got Riddle’s diary. “Give that back,” said Harry quietly.

“Wonder what Potter’s written in this?” said Malfoy, who obviously hadn’t noticed the year on the cover and thought he had Harry’s own diary.

A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny was staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified. “Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Percy sternly. “When I’ve had a look,” said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.

Percy said, “As a school prefect —” but Drew had lost his temper. He shouted, “Diary!” and Malfoy saw the diary was no longer in his hand. The diary orbed onto Drew's hand.

“Drew!” said Percy loudly. “No magic in the corridors. I’ll have to report this, you know!” But Drew didn’t care, he was one-up on Malfoy, and that was worth five points from Gryffindor any day. As he gave the diary to Harry, Harry thanked Drew.

Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, “I don’t think Potter liked your valentine much!”

Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran into class. Snarling, Ron pulled out his wand, but Harry and Drew pulled him away. Ron didn’t need to spend the whole of Charms belching slugs.

It wasn’t until they had reached Professor Flitwick’s class that Harry noticed something rather odd about the diary; all his other books were drenched in scarlet ink. The diary, however, was as clean as it had been before the ink bottle had smashed all over it.

Harry showed his discovery to Drew. They also tried to point this out to Ron, but Ron was having trouble with his wand again; large purple bubbles were blossoming out of the end, and he wasn’t much interested in anything else.

Harry and Drew went to bed before anyone else in his dormitory that night. This was partly because he didn’t think he could stand Fred and George singing, _“His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad”_ one more time, and partly because Harry and Drew wanted to examine Riddle’s diary again.

Since that afternoon, Drew had been more interested in the diary.

They knew that Ron thought they were wasting their time. Harry and Drew sat on Harry's four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace of scarlet ink on it.

Then Harry pulled a new bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his quill into it, and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary.

The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the page, vanished.

“Harry, did you see that?” asked Drew shockingly. Harry ignored him. Excited, Harry loaded up his quill a second time and wrote, “My name is Harry Potter and there's a person standing beside me, his name is Drew Halliwell,”

The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, something happened.

Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Harry had never written. “Hello, Harry Potter and Drew Halliwell. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?”

These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had started to scribble back. “Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.” They waited eagerly for Riddle’s reply.

“Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read.”

“What do you mean?” Harry scrawled, blotting the page in his excitement. “I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” “Ask him,” Drew told Harry.

“That’s where we are now,” Harry wrote quickly. “We're at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff’s been happening. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?”

His heart was hammering. Riddle’s reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though he was hurrying to tell all he knew.

“Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who’d opened the Chamber and he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the power to release it was not imprisoned.”

Harry nearly upset his ink bottle in his hurry to write back. “It’s happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who’s behind them. Who was it last time?”

“I can show you, if you like,” came Riddle’s reply. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I can take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him.”

Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. Harry and Drew glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which was growing dark. When they looked back at the diary, they saw fresh words forming.

“Let me show you.” Harry paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters.

“OK.”

Harry and Drew held hands when the pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through the month of June.

Mouth hanging open, Harry and Drew saw that the little square for June thirteenth seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen.

Harry's hands trembling slightly, he raised the book to press his eye against the little window, and before they knew what was happening, they were tilting forward; the window was widening, they felt their body leave Harry's bed, and they were pitched headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow.

Drew felt his feet hit solid ground, and fell to his feet, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came suddenly into focus. “Drew, are you ok?” asked Harry worriedly as he helped Drew getting up. “I-I'm fine, I was just a bit shaky,” Drew assured him.

They looked around and knew immediately where they were. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was Dumbledore’s office—but it wasn’t Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk.

A wizened, frail looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by candlelight. Harry and Drew had never seen this man before.

“We're sorry,” Harry said shakily. “We didn’t mean to butt in—” But the wizard didn’t look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Harry drew nearer to his desk and stammered, “Er—we’ll just go, shall we?”

Still the wizard ignored him. He didn’t seem even to have heard him. Drew shouted loudly “Hey! Did you hear us! Are you deaf!” “Drew!” “What? Am I not right?” Thinking that the wizard might be deaf, Harry raised his voice.

“Sorry we disturbed you. We'll go now,” he half shouted. The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Harry and Drew without glancing at them, and went to draw the curtains at his window.

Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix—no whirring silver contraptions. This was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not Dumbledore, and he, Harry, was little more than a phantom, completely invisible to the people of fifty years ago.

The sky outside the window was ruby red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door.

“Rude,” said Drew. “Drew!” said Harry loudly. “If you do that again, I will not kiss you for a year,” Drew's feeling hurt slightly but he had an idea.

“You know you didn't mean that,” said Drew seductively and he kissed Harry slowly and softly. “C'mom we better _~ahhh~_ Harry, what are you doing?” moaned Drew.

Drew felt his cock was gently touched by Harry's hand. “You're right; I really didn't mean that,” said Harry and the lovebirds kissed.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the office door. “Enter,” said the old wizard in a feeble voice. “We'll continue this later,” said Harry, winking at Drew. Drew smirked.

A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect’s badge was glinting on his chest. He was much taller than Harry and Drew, but he, too, had jet black hair.

“Ah, Riddle,” said the Headmaster. “You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said Riddle. He looked nervous. “Sit down,” said Dippet. “I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me. “Oh,” said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly.

“My dear boy,” said Dippet kindly, “I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. Surely you want to go home for the holidays?”

“No,” said Riddle at once. “I’d much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that—to that—” “You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?” said Dippet curiously. “Yes, sir,” said Riddle, reddening slightly.

“You are Muggle-born?” “Half-blood, sir,” said Riddle. “Muggle father, witch mother.” “And are both your parents—?”

“My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long enough to name me—Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather.”

Dippet clucked his tongue sympathetically. “The thing is, Tom,” he sighed, “Special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the current circumstances…”

“You mean all these attacks, sir?” said Riddle, and Harry's and Drew's heart leapt, and they moved closer, scared of missing anything.

“Precisely,” said the headmaster. “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy… the death of that poor little girl… You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the er—source of all this unpleasantness…”

Riddle’s eyes had widened. “Sir—if the person was caught—if it all stopped—” “What do you mean?” said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. “Riddle, do you mean you know something about these attacks?” “No, sir,” said Riddle quickly.

“That sounds familiar,” said Drew as he looked at Harry. Drew was sure it was the same sort of “no” that Harry himself had given Dumbledore.

Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed. “You may go, Tom…” Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry and Drew followed him.

Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening corridor.

Riddle stopped, and so did Harry and Drew, watching him. They could tell that Riddle was doing some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed.

Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Harry and Drew gliding noiselessly behind him.

They didn’t see another person until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase.

“What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?” Drew looked at the wizard in shock and Harry gaped at him. He was none other than a fifty year younger Dumbledore.

“I had to see the headmaster, sir,” said Riddle. “Well, hurry off to bed,” said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the kind of penetrating stare Harry and Drew knew so well. “Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…”

He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry and Drew in hot pursuit.

But to their disappointment, Riddle led them not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which Harry and Drew had Potions with Snape.

The torches hadn’t been lit, and when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, they could only just see him, standing stock still by the door, watching the passage outside.

It felt to Drew that they were there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. “Are you really ok?” asked Harry, looking at Drew who was sweating and shivering. “Don't worry about me,”

And just when they had stopped feeling expectant and tense and started wishing they could return to the present, they heard something move beyond the door.

Someone was creeping along the passage. They heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where they and Riddle were hidden.

Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed, Harry tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that he couldn’t be heard.

“Harry, you do realize that we can't be heard and seen, right?” said Drew loudly. “Of course—er—hehe,”

For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head inclined in the direction of new noises.

Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone speaking in a hoarse whisper.

“C’mon…gotta get yeh outta here…C’mon now… in the box…” There was something familiar about that voice.

Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry and Drew stepped out behind him, holding hands. They could see the dark outline of a huge boy who was crouching in front of an open door, a very large box next to it.

“Evening, Rubeus,” said Riddle sharply. The boy slammed the door shut and stood up. “What yer doin’ down here, Tom?” Riddle stepped closer.

“It’s all over,” he said. “I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop.”

“What d’yeh—” “I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and—”

“It never killed no one!” said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, Harry and Drew could hear a funny rustling and clicking.

“Come on, Rubeus,” said Riddle, moving yet closer. “The dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…”

“It wasn’t him!” roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. “He wouldn’! He never!” “Stand aside,” said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite.

And out of it came something that made Harry let out a long, piercing scream unheard by anyone except Drew—

A vast, low slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor sharp pincers—Drew tried to freeze the scene but forgot this was a memory—Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late.

The thing bowled him over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw him back down, yelling, “NOOOOOOO!”

The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Drew felt himself falling and, with a crash, Harry landed spread eagled on his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory and the first thing they knew Harry was on top of Drew. Riddle’s diary lying open next to them.

They looked at each other. Harry blinked twice and Drew shook his head in disbelief. Before they had had time to regain their breath, the dormitory door opened and Ron came in.

“There yo—Oh, I'm so sorry for interrupting,” he said as he covered his eyes. Harry and Drew sat up. They were sweating and shaking.

“What’s up?” said Ron, uncovering his eyes and looking at them with concern. “It was Hagrid, Ron. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	12. Blame me.......not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Quartet found out about Hagrid. Peter got Petrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

Harry, Drew, Ron, and Hermione had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures.

During their first year at Hogwarts he had tried to raise a dragon in his little wooden house, and it would be a long time before they forgot the giant, threeheaded dog he’d christened “Fluffy.”

And if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, Harry was sure he’d have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it.

He’d probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs.

Harry and Drew half wished they hadn’t found out how to work Riddle’s diary. Again and again, Ron and Hermione made them recount what they’d seen, until they were heartily sick of telling them and sick of the long, circular conversations that followed.

“Riddle might have got the wrong person,” said Hermione. “Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people…”

“We always knew Hagrid had been expelled,” said Harry miserably. “And the attacks must’ve stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn’t have got his award.”

“Harry, what if Hagrid really didn't release the monster after all,” said Drew. “What are you talking about? You were there. You and I saw the monster,” “I got four good theory that Hagrid wasn't the Heir of Slytherin,” said Drew.

The other three, therefore, fell silent to listen to Drew's explanation. “Firstly, Hagrid didn't have the personality of a Slytherin, he was warm, sweet and kind to people and animals.” Drew paused for a second then he continued.

“Secondly, Hermione was his friend and she is a muggle-born. Hagrid would never release the monster to kill Hermione. Moreover, if he was greedy enough, he would've stole the Sorcerer's Stone last year and ran away to another country.” Drew paused again.

“And lastly, Dumbledore would've suspect anything, right? He is the most powerful wizard in the world,” Drew finished explaining as he was catching his breath. “So, any questions?”

The other three shook their heads. The four of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.

“Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?” “That’d be a cheerful visit,” said Ron. “‘ _Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?_ ’”

In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled.

It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good.

Peeves had stopped pranking people which made everyone quite happy. Ernie Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March several of the Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very happy.

“The moment they start trying to move into each other’s pots, we’ll know they’re fully mature,” she told Harry. “Then we’ll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing.”

The second years were given something new to think about during their Easter holidays. The time had come to choose their subjects for the third year, a matter that Hermione, at least, took very seriously.

“it could affect our whole future,” she told Harry, Drew and Ron as they pored over lists of new subjects, marking them with checks.

“I just want to give up Potions,” said Harry. “We can’t,” said Ron gloomily. “We keep all our old subjects, or I’d’ve ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“But that’s very important!” said Hermione, shocked. “Not the way Lockhart teaches it,” said Ron. “I haven’t learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose.” “Let's just hope that Lockhart will be replaced by a new professor next year,” said Drew.

Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose.

Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject lists with his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more difficult than the study of Ancient Runes.

Dean Thomas, who, like Harry, had grown up with Muggles, ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the subjects it landed on. Hermione took nobody’s advice but signed up for everything.

Percy Weasley was eager to share his experience.

“Depends where you want to go,” he said. “It’s never too early to think about the future, so I’d recommend Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think wizards should have a thorough understanding of the non magical community, particularly if they’re thinking of working in close contact with them—look at my father, he has to deal with Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths, Harry.”

In the end, he chose the same new subjects as Ron, feeling that if he was lousy at them, at least he’d have someone friendly to help him.

“Drew, what subject did you choose?” asked Harry. “Care of Magical Creatures and Divination,” “Oh really? Ron and I chose the same subject,” said Harry. Both of them smiled.

Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood was insisting on team practices every night after dinner, so that Harry and Drew barely had time for anything but Quidditch and homework.

However, the training sessions were getting better, or at least drier, and the evening before Saturday’s match they went up to their dormitory to drop off their broomstick feeling Gryffindor’s chances for the Quidditch cup had never been better.

But their cheerful mood didn’t last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory, they met Neville Longbottom, who was looking frantic.

“Harry—I don’t know who did it—I just found—” Watching Harry and Drew fearfully, Neville pushed open the door.

The contents of Harry’s trunk had been thrown everywhere. His cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.

Harry walked over to the bed, open mouthed, treading on a few loose pages of _Travels with Trolls._ As Drew, Harry and Neville pulled the blankets back onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus came in. Dean swore loudly.

“What happened, Harry?” “No idea,” said Harry. But Ron was examining Harry’s robes. All the pockets were hanging out. “Someone’s been looking for something,” said Ron. “Is there anything missing?”

Harry started to pick up all his things and throw them into his trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart books back into it that he realized what wasn’t there.

“Riddle’s diary’s gone,” he said in an undertone to Ron and Drew. “What?” said the other two.

Harry jerked his head toward the dormitory door and Ron and Drew followed him out. They hurried down to the Gryffindor common room, which was half empty, and joined Hermione, who was sitting alone, reading a book called _Ancient Runes Made Easy._

Hermione looked aghast at the news. “But—only a Gryffindor could have stolen—nobody else knows our password—” “Exactly,” said Harry.

They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze. “Perfect Quidditch conditions!” said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team’s plates with scrambled eggs.

“Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast.” Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle’s diary was right in front of his eyes. Drew also tried to search for the diary without looking suspicious.

Hermione had been urging Harry to report the robbery, but he didn’t like the idea. As Drew and Harry left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect their Quidditch things, they heard Harry shouted aloud and Ron, Drew and Hermione jumped away from him in alarm.

“The voice!” said Harry, looking over his shoulder. “I just heard it again—didn’t you?” Ron shook his head, wide eyed.

Drew closed his eyes, tried and failed to listen for the voice. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.

“Harry—I think I’ve just understood something! I’ve got to go to the library!” And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

“What does she understand?” said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from. “I don't know,” said Drew.

“Loads more than I do,” said Ron, shaking his head. “But why’s she got to go to the library?” “Because that’s what Hermione does,” said Ron, shrugging. “When in doubt, go to the library.”

Harry stood, irresolute, trying to catch the voice again, but people were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch. “You two better get moving,” said Ron. “It’s nearly eleven—the match—”

Harry and Drew raced up to Gryffindor Tower, collected their brooms and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds, but their mind was still in the castle along with the bodiless voice, and as they pulled on their scarlet robes in the locker room, their only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.

The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm up flight around the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls.

The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last minute discussion of tactics.

Harry and Drew were just mounting their brooms when Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.

“This match has been cancelled,” Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium.

There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.

“But, Professor!” he shouted. “We’ve got to play—the cup—Gryffindor—” Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone: “All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!”

Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry and Drew over to her. “Potter, Halliwell, I think you’d better come with me…”

Wondering how she could possibly suspect them this time, Drew saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd; he came running up to them as they set off toward the castle. To their surprise, Professor McGonagall didn’t object.

“Yes, perhaps you’d better come, too, Weasley…” Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being canceled; others looked worried.

Harry, Drew and Ron followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the marble staircase. But they weren’t taken to anybody’s office this time.

“This will be a bit of a shock,” said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. “There has been another attack… another double attack.”

Drew's heart was pounding like crazy. Professor McGonagall pushed the door open and Harry, Drew and Ron entered.

Madam Pomfrey was bending over a second year boy with short, straight, black hair. They recognized him at once; it was Peter Parker. And on the bed next to her was—

“Hermione!” Ron and Drew groaned. Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy. “They were found near the library,” said Professor McGonagall. “I don’t suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them…”

She was holding up a small, circular mirror. Harry and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione. But Drew was staring at Peter, he was doing some sort of Rock n Roll hand movement. But then, he saw something on Peter's ring finger.

“Is that spiderweb?” Drew whispered as he touched the line. “I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower,” said Professor McGonagall heavily. “I need to address the students in any case. Drew took the long spiderweb and put it inside his robe without them noticing.

“All students will return to their House common rooms by six o’clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities.”

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, “I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward.”

She climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindors began talking immediately. “That’s two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff,” said the Weasley twins’ friend Lee Jordan, counting on his fingers. “Haven’t any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn’t it obvious all this stuff’s coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin—why don’t they just chuck all the Slytherins out?” he roared, to nods and scattered applause.

But Drew was only half listening. He didn’t seem to be able to get rid of the picture of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out of stone.

And if the culprit wasn’t caught soon, Harry will go back to those magic-haters Dursleys and Drew will not see him ever again.

“What’re we going to do?” said Ron quietly in Harry’s and Drew's ear. “D’you think they suspect Hagrid?” “We’ve got to go and talk to him,” said Harry, making up his mind. “I can’t believe it’s him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time he’ll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that’s a start.” “But are you really, really sure it's Hagrid?” asked Drew determinedly. “Positive,”

“But McGonagall said we’ve got to stay in our tower unless we’re in class—” “I think,” said Harry, more quietly still, “it’s time to get my dad’s old cloak out again.”

Harry had inherited just one thing from his father: a long and silvery Invisibility Cloak. It was their only chance of sneaking out of the school to visit Hagrid without anyone knowing about it.

They went to bed at the usual time, waited until Neville, Dean, and Seamus had stopped discussing the Chamber of Secrets and finally fallen asleep, then got up, dressed again, and threw the cloak over themselves.

The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn’t enjoyable. Drew, who had wandered the castle at night several times before, had never seen it so crowded after sunset.

Teachers, prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity.

Their Invisibility Cloak didn’t stop them making any noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot where Snape stood standing guard.

Thankfully, Snape sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore. It was with relief that they reached the oak front doors and eased them open.

It was a clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit windows of Hagrid’s house and pulled off the cloak only when they were right outside his front door.

Seconds after they had knocked, Hagrid flung it open. They found themselves face to face with him aiming a crossbow at them. Fang the boarhound barked loudly behind him.

“Oh,” he said, lowering the weapon and staring at them. “What’re you two doin’ here?” “What’s that for?” said Harry, pointing at the crossbow as they stepped inside. “Nothin’—nothin’—” Hagrid muttered. “I’ve bin expectin’—doesn’ matter—Sit down—I’ll make tea—”

He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand.

“Are you okay, Hagrid?” said Harry. “Did you hear about Hermione?” “Oh, I heard, all righ’,” said Hagrid, a slight break in his voice. He kept glancing nervously at the windows.

He poured them both large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add tea bags) and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the door.

Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry, Drew and Ron exchanged panic stricken looks, then threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and retreated into a corner.

Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more.

“Good evening, Hagrid.” It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd looking man.

The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime green bowler.

“That’s Dad’s boss!” Ron breathed. “Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!” Drew covered Ron's mouth to make him shut up.

Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.

“Bad business, Hagrid,” said Fudge in rather clipped tones. “Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things’ve gone far enough. Ministry’s got to act.”

“I never,” said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. “You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir—”

“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,” said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge. “Look, Albus,” said Fudge, uncomfortably. “Hagrid’s record’s against him. Ministry’s got to do something—the school governors have been in touch—”

“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Drew had never seen before.

“Look at it from my point of view,” said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. “I’m under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn’t Hagrid, he’ll be back and no more said. But I’ve got to take him. Got to. Wouldn’t be doing my duty—”

“Take me?” said Hagrid, who was trembling. “Take me where?” “For a short stretch only,” said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid’s eyes. “Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you’ll be let out with a full apology—” “Not Azkaban?” croaked Hagrid.

Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door. Dumbledore answered it. It was Harry’s turn for a hand in the mouth; he’d let out an audible gasp.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid’s hut, swathed in a long black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl.

“Already here, Fudge,” he said approvingly. “Good, good…” “What’re you doin’ here?” said Hagrid furiously. “Get outta my house!”

“My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your—er—d’you call this a house?” said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin. “I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here.”

“And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?” said Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.

“Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, “but the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension—you’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn’t it? At this rate, there’ll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school.”

“Oh, now, see here, Lucius,” said Fudge, looking alarmed, “Dumbledore suspended—no, no—last thing we want just now…”

“The appointment—or suspension—of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. “And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks—”

“See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can’t stop them,” said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, “I mean to say, who can?”

“That remains to be seen,” said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile. “But as all twelve of us have voted—” Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling.

“An’ how many did yeh have ter threaten an’ blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?” he roared.

“Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid,” said Mr. Malfoy. “I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won’t like it at all.”

“Yeh can’ take Dumbledore!” yelled Hagrid, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. “Take him away, an’ the Muggle-borns won’ stand a chance! There’ll be killin’ next!”

“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy. “If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside—”

“But—” stuttered Fudge. “No!” growled Hagrid. Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy’s cold gray ones.

“However,” said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, “you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

For a second, Drew was almost sure Dumbledore’s eyes flickered towards the corner where he, Harry and Ron stood hidden.

“Admirable sentiments,” said Malfoy, bowing. “We shall all miss your—er—highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any—ah—‘killin’s.’”

He strode to the cabin door, opened it and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath and said carefully, “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ’em right! That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Fudge stared at him in amazement. “All right, I’m comin’,” said Hagrid, pulling on his moleskin overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he stopped again and said loudly, “An’ someone’ll need ter feed Fang while I’m away.” The door banged shut and Ron pulled the Invisibility Cloak off.

“We’re in trouble now,” he said hoarsely. “No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be an attack a day with him gone.”

Fang started howling, scratching at the closed door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	13. Itsy Biggy Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drew and Harry had fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

Summer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses.

But with no Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn’t look right to Drew and Harry; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle, where things were so horribly wrong.

Harry, Drew and Ron had tried to visit Hermione, but visitors were now barred from the hospital wing.

“We’re taking no more chances,” Madam Pomfrey told them severely through a crack in the infirmary door. “No, I’m sorry, there’s every chance the attacker might come back to finish these people off…”

With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, so that the sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned windows.

There was barely a face to be seen in the school that didn’t look worried and tense, and any laughter that rang through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and was quickly stifled.

Drew constantly repeated Dumbledore’s final words to himself _“I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me… Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”_

But what good were these words? Who exactly were they supposed to ask for help, when everyone was just as confused and scared as they were?

Hagrid’s hint about the spiders was far easier to understand—the trouble was, there didn’t seem to be a single spider left in the castle to follow.

Harry and Drew looked everywhere he went, helped (rather reluctantly) by Ron. They were hampered, of course, by the fact that they weren’t allowed to wander off on their own but had to move around the castle in a pack with the other Gryffindors.

Most of their fellow students seemed glad that they were being shepherded from class to class by teachers, but Harry and Drew found it very irksome.

One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy.

Harry and Drew didn’t realize what he was so pleased about until the Potions lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting right behind Malfoy, Drew overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle.

“I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore,” he said, not troubling to keep his voice down. “I told you he thinks Dumbledore’s the worst headmaster the school’s ever had. Maybe we’ll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won’t want the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won’t last long, she’s only filling in…”

Snape swept past the lovebirds, making no comment about Hermione’s empty seat and cauldron.

“Sir,” said Malfoy loudly. “Sir, why don’t you apply for the headmaster’s job?” “Now, now, Malfoy,” said Snape, though he couldn’t suppress a thinlipped smile. “Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I daresay he’ll be back with us soon enough.”

“Yeah, right,” said Malfoy, smirking. “I expect you’d have Father’s vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job—I’ll tell Father you’re the best teacher here, sir—”

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon, fortunately not spotting Seamus Finnigan, who was pretending to vomit into his cauldron.

“I’m quite surprised the Mudbloods haven’t all packed their bags by now,” Malfoy went on. “Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn’t Granger—”

The bell rang at that moment, which was lucky; at Malfoy’s last words, Ron had leapt off his stool, and in the scramble to collect bags and books, his attempts to reach Malfoy went unnoticed.

“Let me at him,” Ron growled as Harry and Drew hung onto his arms. “I don’t care, I don’t need my wand, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands—”

“Hurry up, I’ve got to take you all to Herbology,” barked Snape over the class’s heads, and off they marched, with Harry, Drew, Ron, and Dean bringing up the rear, Ron still trying to get loose.

It was only safe to let go of him when Snape had seen them out of the castle and they were making their way across the vegetable patch toward the greenhouses.

The Herbology class was very subdued; there were now two missing from their number, Justin and Hermione. Professor Sprout set them all to work pruning the Abyssinian Shrivelfigs.

Harry went to tip an armful of withered stalks onto the compost heap and found himself face to face with Ernie Macmillan.

Ernie took a deep breath and said, very formally, “I just want to say, Harry, that I’m sorry I ever suspected you. I know you’d never attack Hermione Granger, and I apologize for all the stuff I said. We’re all in the same boat now, and, well—” He held out a pudgy hand, and Harry shook it.

Ernie and his friend, Hannah, came to work at the same Shrivelfig as Harry and Ron. “That Draco Malfoy character,” said Ernie, breaking off dead twigs, “he seems very pleased about all this, doesn’t he? D’you know, I think he might be Slytherin’s heir.”

“That’s clever of you,” said Ron, who didn’t seem to have forgiven Ernie as readily as Harry. Drew elbowed Ron hardly. Ernie had forgiven Harry so Drew thought there's no use to hold a grudge against him.

“Do you think it’s Malfoy, Harry?” Ernie asked. “No,” said Harry, so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared. “So, you and Halliwell are a couple now?” asked Ernie awkwardly. “Yeah, wasn't that obvious? Both of us had walking together...holding hands...in front of everybody...for seven months now,” said Drew, raising his eyebrows at the Hufflepuff boy.

“I'm sorry, I wanted to avoid Harry or rumors about him back then,” “That isn't your fault,” said Harry and he kissed Drew's cheek.

A second later, Drew spotted something. Several large spiders were scuttling over the ground on the other side of the glass, moving in an unnaturally straight line as though taking the shortest route to a prearranged meeting. Drew hit Ron over the hand with his pruning shears which got Harry's attention.

“Ouch! What’re you—” Drew pointed out the spiders, following their progress with his eyes screwed up against the sun. “Oh, yeah,” said Ron, trying, and failing, to look pleased. “But we can’t follow them now—”

Ernie and Hannah were listening curiously. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he focused on the spiders. If they pursued their fixed course, there could be no doubt about where they would end up. “Looks like they’re heading for the Forbidden Forest…” And Ron looked even unhappier about that.

At the end of the lesson Professor Sprout escorted the class to their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. Harry, Drew and Ron lagged behind the others so they could talk out of earshot.

“We’ll have to use the Invisibility Cloak again,” Harry told Ron and Drew. “We can take Fang with us. He’s used to going into the forest with Hagrid, he might be some help.”

“Right,” said Ron, who was twirling his wand nervously in his fingers. “Er—aren’t there—aren’t there supposed to be werewolves in the forest?” he added as they took their usual places at the back of Lockhart’s classroom.

Preferring not to answer that question, Harry said, “There are good things in there, too. The centaurs are all right, and the unicorns…”

Unlike Harry and Drew, Ron had never been into the Forbidden Forest before. They had entered it only once and had hoped never to do so again.

Lockhart bounded into the room and the class stared at him. Every other teacher in the place was looking grimmer than usual, but Lockhart appeared nothing short of buoyant.

“Come now,” he cried, beaming around him. “Why all these long faces?” People swapped exasperated looks, but nobody answered.

“Don’t you people realize,” said Lockhart, speaking slowly, as though they were all a bit dim, “the danger has passed! The culprit has been taken away—”

“Says who?” said Dean Thomas loudly. “My dear young man, the Minister of Magic wouldn’t have taken Hagrid if he hadn’t been one hundred percent sure that he was guilty,” said Lockhart, in the tone of someone explaining that one and one made two. “Oh, yes he would,” said Ron, even more loudly than Dean.

“I flatter myself I know a touch more about Hagrid’s arrest than you do, Mr. Weasley,” said Lockhart in a self satisfied tone.

Ron started to say that he didn’t think so, somehow, but stopped in mid sentence when Harry kicked him hard under the desk. “We weren’t there, remember?” Harry muttered.

But Lockhart’s disgusting cheeriness, his hints that he had always thought Hagrid was no good, his confidence that the whole business was now at an end, irritated Drew so much that he yearned to orbed him to Azkaban or even worse: the Underworld. Drew then got a note from Harry: Let’s do it tonight.

Then, he gave the note to Ron. He read the message, swallowed hard, and looked sideways at the empty seat usually filled by Hermione. The sight seemed to stiffen his resolve, and he nodded.

The Gryffindor common room was always very crowded these days, because from six o’clock onward the Gryffindors had nowhere else to go.

They also had plenty to talk about, with the result that the common room often didn’t empty until past midnight.

Harry went to get the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk right after dinner, and spent the evening sitting on it, waiting for the room to clear.

Fred and George challenged Harry, Drew and Ron to a few games of Exploding Snap, while Ginny and Dylan sat watching them, very subdued in Hermione’s usual chair.

Harry and Ron kept losing on purpose, trying to finish the games quickly. Unfortunately, Drew wanted to win eagerly. But even so, it was well past midnight when Fred, George, Dylan and Ginny finally went to bed.

Harry, Drew and Ron waited for the distant sounds of two dormitory doors closing before seizing the cloak, throwing it over themselves, and climbing through the portrait hole.

It was another difficult journey through the castle, dodging all the teachers. At last they reached the entrance hall, slid back the lock on the oak front doors, squeezed between them, trying to stop any creaking, and stepped out into the moonlit grounds.

“'Course,” said Ron abruptly as they strode across the black grass, “we might get to the forest and find there’s nothing to follow. Those spiders might not’ve been going there at all. I know it looked like they were moving in that sort of general direction, but…” His voice trailed away hopefully.

They reached Hagrid’s house, sad and sorry looking with its blank windows. When Harry pushed the door open, Fang went mad with joy at the sight of them.

Worried he might wake everyone at the castle with his deep, booming barks, they hastily fed him treacle fudge from a tin on the mantelpiece, which glued his teeth together.

Harry left the Invisibility Cloak on Hagrid’s table. There would be no need for it in the pitch dark forest. “C’mon, Fang, we’re going for a walk,” said Harry, patting his leg, and Fang bounded happily out of the house behind them, dashed to the edge of the forest, and lifted his leg against a large sycamore tree.

Harry took out his wand, murmured, “Lumos!” and a tiny light appeared at the end of it, just enough to let them watch the path for signs of spiders.

“Good thinking,” said Ron as Drew light his wand too. “I’d light mine, too, but you know—it’d probably blow up or something…”

Harry tapped Ron and Drew on the shoulder, pointing at the grass. Two solitary spiders were hurrying away from the wandlight into the shade of the trees.

“Okay,” Ron sighed as though resigned to the worst, “I’m ready. Let’s go.” So, with Fang scampering around them, sniffing tree roots and leaves, they entered the forest.

By the glow of Harry’s and Drew's wand, they followed the steady trickle of spiders moving along the path.

They walked behind them for about twenty minutes, not speaking, listening hard for noises other than breaking twigs and rustling leaves.

Then, when the trees had become thicker than ever, so that the stars overhead were no longer visible, and Harry’s and Drew's wand shone in the sea of dark, they saw their spider guides leaving the path.

Harry and Drew paused, trying to see where the spiders were going, but everything outside his little sphere oflight was pitch black. They had never been this deep into the forest before.

They could vividly remember Hagrid advising him not to leave the forest path last time he’d been in here. But Hagrid was miles away now, probably sitting in a cell in Azkaban, and he had also said to follow the spiders.

Something wet touched Harry’s hand and he jumped backward, crushing Ron's foot, but it was only Fang’s nose.

“What d’you reckon?” Harry said to Ron, whose eyes he could just make out, reflecting the light from his wand. “We’ve come this far,” said Ron. “If we want to leave this creepy forest, stop talking and keep following the spiders,” said Drew sternly.

So they followed the darting shadows of the spiders into the trees. They couldn’t move very quickly now; there were tree roots and stumps in their way, barely visible in the near blackness.

Drew could feel the breezing wind made him shivering. More than once, they had to stop, so that Harry and Drew could crouch down and find the spiders in the wandlight.

They walked for what seemed like at least half an hour, their robes snagging on low slung branches and brambles.

After a while, they noticed that the ground seemed to be sloping downward, though the trees were as thick as ever.

Then Fang suddenly let loose a great, echoing bark, making Harry, Drew and Ron jump out of their skins. “What?” said Ron loudly, looking around into the pitch dark, and gripping Harry’s elbow very hard. “There’s something moving over there,” Harry breathed. “Listen… sounds like something big…”

They listened. Some distance to their right, the something big was snapping branches as it carved a path through the trees. “Oh, no,” said Ron. “Oh, no, oh, no, oh—”

“Shut up,” said Harry frantically. “It’ll hear you.” “Hear me?” said Ron in an unnaturally high voice. “It’s already heard Fang!” “SHHHHH!” shushed Drew.

The darkness seemed to be pressing on their eyeballs as they stood, terrified, waiting. There was a strange rumbling noise and then silence. “What d’you think it’s doing?” said Harry. “Probably getting ready to pounce,” said Ron.

They waited, shivering, hardly daring to move. “D’you think it’s gone?” Harry whispered. “Dunno—”

Then, to their right, came a sudden blaze of light, so bright in the darkness that both of them flung up their hands to shield their eyes.

Fang yelped and tried to run, but got lodged in a tangle of thorns and yelped even louder.

“Harry!” Ron shouted, his voice breaking with relief. “Harry, it’s our car!” “What?” said Harry and Drew. “Come on!”

Harry blundered after Ron toward the light, stumbling and tripping, and a moment later they had emerged into a clearing.

Mr. Weasley’s car was standing, empty, in the middle of a circle of thick trees under a roof of dense branches, its headlights ablaze.

As Ron walked, open mouthed, toward it, it moved slowly toward him, exactly like a large, turquoise dog greeting its owner.

“So this is _**THE**_ car,” Drew mumbled. “It’s been here all the time!” said Ron delightedly, walking around the car. “Look at it. The forest’s turned it wild…”

The sides of the car were scratched and smeared with mud. Apparently it had taken to trundling around the forest on its own.

Fang didn’t seem at all keen on it; he kept close to Harry, who could feel him quivering. Harry and Drew stuffed their wand back into his robes.

“And we thought it was going to attack us!” said Ron, leaning against the car and patting it. “I wondered where it had gone!”

Harry and Drew squinted around on the floodlit ground for signs of more spiders, but they had all scuttled away from the glare of the headlights.

“We’ve lost the trail,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go and find them.” Ron didn’t speak. He didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on a point some ten feet above the forest floor, right behind Harry. His face was livid with terror.

Drew didn’t even have time to turn around. There was a loud clicking noise and suddenly he felt something long and hairy seize him around the middle and lift him off the ground, so that he was hanging facedown. “Let us go!” shrieked Drew.

Struggling, terrified, he heard more clicking, and saw Ron’s and Harry's legs leave the ground, too, heard Fang whimpering and howling—next moment, he was being swept away into the dark trees.

Head hanging, Drew saw that what had hold of him was marching on six immensely long, hairy legs, the front two clutching him tightly below a pair of shining black pincers. Behind him, he could hear another of the creatures, no doubt carrying Ron and Harry.

They were moving into the very heart of the forest. Drew could hear Fang fighting to free himself from a third monster, whining loudly, but Drew couldn't have throw even if he had wanted to; he seemed to have left his courage back with the car in the clearing.

He never knew how long he was in the creature’s clutches; he only knew that the darkness suddenly lifted enough for him to see that the leaf strewn ground was now swarming with spiders.

Craning his neck sideways, he realized that they had reached the ridge of a vast hollow, a hollow that had been cleared of trees, so that the stars shone brightly onto the worst scene he had ever laid eyes on.

Spiders. Not tiny spiders like those surging over the leaves below. Spiders the size of carthorses, eight eyed, eight legged, black, hairy, gigantic.

The massive specimen that was carrying Drew made its way down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very center of the hollow, while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load.

Drew and Harry fell to the ground on all eights as the spider released them. Ron and Fang thudded down next to them.

Fang wasn’t howling anymore, but cowering silently on the spot. Ron looked exactly like Harry and Drew felt. His mouth was stretched wide in a kind of silent scream and his eyes were popping.

They suddenly realized that the spider that had dropped him was saying something. It had been hard to tell, because he clicked his pincers with every word he spoke.

“Aragog!” it called. “Aragog!” And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, very slowly.

There was gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, pincered head was milky white. He was blind.

“What is it?” he said, clicking his pincers rapidly. “Men,” clicked the spider who had caught Harry. “Is it Hagrid?” said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely. “Strangers,” clicked the spider who had brought Ron. “Kill them,” clicked Aragog fretfully. “I was sleeping…”

“We’re friends of Hagrid’s,” Harry shouted. His heart seemed to have left his chest to pound in his throat. Click, click, click went the pincers of the spiders all around the hollow.

Aragog paused. “Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before,” he said slowly. “Hagrid’s in trouble,” said Harry, breathing very fast. “That’s why we’ve come.”

“In trouble?” said the aged spider, and Harry thought he heard concern beneath the clicking pincers. “But why has he sent you?”

Harry was too scared to talk so Drew took his place. “Up at Hogwarts, people think that Hagrid has been setting some sort of a monster on students.” Drew paused as he was trying to catch his breath. “T-They have taken him to A-A—” “Azkaban.” Harry continued for him.

Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the sound was echoed by the crowd of spiders; it was like applause, except applause didn’t usually make Drew almost fainted.

“But that was years ago,” said Aragog fretfully. “Years and years ago. I remember it well. That’s why they made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free.”

“And you… you didn’t come from the Chamber of Secrets?” said Harry, who could feel cold sweat on his forehead. “I!” said Aragog, clicking angrily. “I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land. A traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid is my good friend, and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected me. I have lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid’s goodness…”

Drew summoned what remained of his courage. “So you never—never attacked anyone?” “Never,” croaked the old spider. “It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and the quiet…”

“But then… Do you know what did kill that girl?” said Harry. “Because whatever it is, it’s back and attacking people again—”

His words were drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily; large black shapes shifted all around him.

“The thing that lives in the castle,” said Aragog, “is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast moving about the school.”

“What is it?” said Harry urgently. More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to be closing in. “We do not speak of it!” said Aragog fiercely. “We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times.”

He was backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders continued to inch slowly toward Harry, Drew and Ron. Drew signaled Harry for them to go.

“We’ll just go, then,” Harry called desperately to Aragog, hearing leaves rustling behind him. “Go?” said Aragog slowly. “I think not…” “But we're friends with Hagrid,” said Drew.

“My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat, when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Good bye, friend of Hagrid.”

Harry spun around. Feet away, towering above him, was a solid wall of spiders, clicking, their many eyes gleaming in their ugly black heads.

“Drew, orb us out of here!” shouted Harry and Drew orbed without second thought. However, one of the spiders caught Drew's feet and they fell to the ground. “Drew!” cried Harry but Drew got it handled; Drew threw an energy ball at it.

Suddenly, a loud, long note sounded, and a blaze of light flamed through the hollow. Mr. Weasley’s car was thundering down the slope, headlights glaring, its horn screeching, knocking spiders aside; several were thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the air. The car screeched to a halt in front of Harry, Drew and Ron and the doors flew open.

“Get Fang!” Harry yelled, diving into the front seat while Drew went into the back seat; Ron seized the boarhound around the middle and threw him, yelping, into the back of the car—the doors slammed shut—Ron didn’t touch the accelerator but the car didn’t need him; the engine roared and they were off, hitting more spiders.

They sped up the slope, out of the hollow, and they were soon crashing through the forest, branches whipping the windows as the car wound its way cleverly through the widest gaps, following a path it obviously knew.

Harry looked sideways at Ron. His mouth was still open in the silent scream, but his eyes weren’t popping anymore. “Are you okay?” Ron stared straight ahead, unable to speak.

Then, he turned to Drew. “Drew, are you ok?” “Never been better,” said Drew as he orbed next to Harry. “Harry, I'm scared,” He leaned on Harry's shoulder.

Harry and Ron never seen Drew scared like that before. “Don't worry, everything is fine now,” assured Harry as he put his arm around Drew.

They smashed their way through the undergrowth, Fang howling loudly in the back seat, and Drew saw the side mirror snap off as they squeezed past a large oak. After ten noisy, rocky minutes, the trees thinned, and Drew could again see patches of sky.

The car stopped so suddenly that they were nearly thrown into the windshield. They had reached the edge of the forest.

Fang flung himself at the window in his anxiety to get out, and when Harry opened the door, Harry and Drew shot off through the trees to Hagrid’s house, tail between his legs.

Ron got out too, and after a minute or so, Ron seemed to regain the feeling in his limbs and followed, still stiff necked and staring.

Harry gave the car a grateful pat as it reversed back into the forest and disappeared from view.

Harry went back into Hagrid’s cabin to get the Invisibility Cloak. Fang was trembling under a blanket in his basket. When Harry got outside again, he found Ron being violently sick in the pumpkin patch.

“Follow the spiders,” said Ron weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I’ll never forgive Hagrid. We’re lucky to be alive.” “I bet he thought Aragog wouldn’t hurt friends of his,” said Harry.

“That’s exactly Hagrid’s problem!” said Ron, thumping the wall of the cabin. “He always thinks monsters aren’t as bad as they’re made out, and look where it’s got him! A cell in Azkaban!”

He was shivering uncontrollably now. “What was the point of sending us in there? What have we found out, I’d like to know?”

“That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets,” said Harry, throwing the cloak over Ron and prodding him in the arm to make him walk. “He was innocent.”

Ron gave a loud snort. Evidently, hatching Aragog in a cupboard wasn’t his idea of being innocent.

As the castle loomed nearer Harry twitched the cloak to make sure their feet were hidden, then pushed the creaking front doors ajar.

They walked carefully back across the entrance hall and up the marble staircase, holding their breath as they passed corridors where watchful sentries were walking.

At last they reached the safety of the Gryffindor common room, where the fire had burned itself into glowing ash. They took off the cloak and climbed the winding stair to their dormitory.

Ron fell onto his bed without bothering to get undressed. Harry, however, didn’t feel very sleepy. Drew put on his pajamas and he went to his four-poster when Harry allowed Drew to sleep on his bed for the night.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” asked Drew as he took his pillow from his four-poster and put it next to Harry's pillow.

“Later,” said Harry. “I need to think about something,” “Ok then,” said Drew and he kissed Harry in the cheek.

But then Harry grabbed Drew and he kissed Drew softly. “I changed my mind,” said Harry. “I want to be with you,” 

Drew blushed and Harry pushed him which made Drew laid on Harry's bed. Harry kissed him hungrily while Drew just closed his eyes and did nothing. 

Drew felt their tongues were twisting, he also felt the taste of treacle tarts from Harry's mouth. Harry put his hands inside Drew's shirt, rubbing his chest.

They broke their kiss and Drew opened his eyes. “You're a good kisser and you know that, right?” said Drew which made Harry blushed. 

“I love you, Drew. I love you with all my heart,” “I love you too, Harry,” said Drew as he gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. “Wouldn't it be weird if there were ghosts or spirits were watching us?”

“Ghosts...” “Harry, I was just joking,” assured Drew. Suddenly, Harry sat bolt upright. “Ron,” he hissed through the dark, “Ron—”

Ron woke with a yelp like Fang’s, stared wildly around, and saw Harry. “Ron—that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a bathroom,” said Harry, ignoring Neville’s snuffling snores from the corner. “What if she never left the bathroom? What if she’s still there?”

Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through the moonlight. And then he understood, too. Drew also realized it. “You don’t think—not Moaning Myrtle?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	14. The Chamber of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny and Dylan had been taken by the Heir of Slytherin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

“I cannot believe that the answer is right under our noses,” said Drew. “All those times we were in that bathroom, and she was just three toilets away,” said Ron bitterly at breakfast next day, “and we could’ve asked her, and now…”

It had been hard enough trying to look for spiders. Escaping their teachers long enough to sneak into a girls’ bathroom, the girls’ bathroom, moreover, right next to the scene of the first attack, was going to be almost impossible.

But something happened in their first lesson, Transfiguration, that drove the Chamber of Secrets out of their minds for the first time in weeks.

Ten minutes into the class, Professor McGonagall told them that their exams would start on the first of June, one week from today.

“Exams?” howled Seamus Finnigan. “We’re still getting exams?” There was a loud bang behind Harry as Neville Longbottom’s wand slipped, vanishing one of the legs on his desk.

Professor McGonagall restored it with a wave of her own wand, and turned, frowning, to Seamus.

“The whole point of keeping the school open at this time is for you to receive your education,” she said sternly. “The exams will therefore take place as usual, and I trust you are all studying hard.”

Studying hard? There's a freaking monster inside the school for God's sake!

There was a great deal of mutinous muttering around the room, which made Professor McGonagall scowl even more darkly.

“Professor Dumbledore’s instructions were to keep the school running as normally as possible,” she said. “And that, I need hardly point out, means finding out how much you have learned this year.

Luckily, Drew had read all of his books and done some revisions so he won't have any problems answering his exams. Ron looked as though he’d just been told he had to go and live in the Forbidden Forest.

“Can you imagine me taking exams with this?” he asked Harry and Drew, holding up his wand, which had just started whistling loudly.

Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made another announcement at breakfast.

“I have good news,” she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted. “Dumbledore’s coming back!”

Several people yelled joyfully. “You’ve caught the Heir of Slytherin!” squealed a girl at the Ravenclaw table.

“Quidditch matches are back on!” roared Wood excitedly. When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, “Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit.”

There was an explosion of cheering. Drew looked over at the Slytherin table and wasn’t at all surprised to see that Draco Malfoy hadn’t joined in. Ron, however, was looking happier than he’d looked in days.

“It won’t matter that we never asked Myrtle, then!” he said to Harry. “Hermione’ll probably have all the answers when they wake her up! Mind you, she’ll go crazy when she finds out we’ve got exams in three days’ time. She hasn’t studied. It might be kinder to leave her where she is till they’re over.”

“Drew, have you seen Ginny?” asked Dylan, who was sitting next to Drew. “No, I haven't,”

Just then, Ginny Weasley came over and sat down next to Ron. She looked tense and nervous, and Drew noticed that her hands were twisting in her lap.

“What’s up?” said Ron, helping himself to more porridge. Ginny didn’t say anything, but glanced up and down the Gryffindor table with a scared look on her face.

“Ginny, are you ok?” asked Dylan worriedly. Ginny still hadn't say anything. “Spit it out,” said Ron, watching her.

“Ginny, don't worry. No one is going to hurt you,” said Drew. “I’ve got to tell you something,” Ginny mumbled, carefully not looking at Harry.

“What is it?” said Harry. Ginny looked as though she couldn’t find the right words. “What?” said Ron.

Ginny opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Harry leaned forward and spoke quietly, so that only Ginny, Drew and Ron could hear him.

“Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?” Ginny drew a deep breath and, at that precise moment, Percy Weasley appeared, looking tired.

“If you’ve finished eating, I’ll take that seat, Ginny. I’m starving, I’ve only just come off patrol duty.” Ginny jumped up as though her chair had just been electrified, gave Percy a fleeting, frightened look, and scampered away. “Ginny!” said Dylan as he chased after her.

Percy sat down and grabbed a mug from the center of the table. “Percy!” said Ron angrily. “She was just about to tell us something important!”

Halfway through a gulp of tea, Percy choked. “What sort of thing?” he said, coughing. “I just asked her if she’d seen anything odd, and she started to say—” “Oh—that—that’s nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets,” said Percy at once.

“How do you know?” said Ron, his eyebrows raised. “Well, er, if you must know, Ginny, er, walked in on me the other day when I was—well, never mind—the point is, she spotted me doing something and I, um, I asked her not to mention it to anybody. I must say, I did think she’d keep her word. It’s nothing, really, I’d just rather—”

Drew had never seen Percy look so uncomfortable. “What were you doing, Percy?” said Ron, grinning. “Go on, tell us, we won’t laugh.” Percy didn’t smile back.

“Pass me those rolls, Harry, I’m starving.” Drew knew the whole mystery might be solved tomorrow without their help, but he wasn’t about to pass up a chance to speak to Myrtle if it turned up—and to his delight it did, midmorning, when they were being led to History of Magic by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Lockhart, who had so often assured them that all danger had passed, only to be proved wrong right away, was now wholeheartedly convinced that it was hardly worth the trouble to see them safely down the corridors.

His hair wasn’t as sleek as usual; it seemed he had been up most of the night, patrolling the fourth floor.

“Mark my words,” he said, ushering them around a corner. “The first words out of those poor Petrified people’s mouths will be ‘ _It was Hagrid_.’ Frankly, I’m astounded Professor McGonagall thinks all these security measures are necessary.”

“I agree, sir,” said Harry, making Ron drop his books in surprise and Drew looked at Harry shockingly. “Thank you, Harry,” said Lockhart graciously while they waited for a long line of Hufflepuffs to pass. “I mean, we teachers have quite enough to be getting on with, without walking students to classes and standing guard all night…”

“That’s right,” said Ron, catching on. “Why don’t you leave us here, sir, we’ve only got one more corridor to go—” “You know, Weasley, I think I will,” said Lockhart. “I really should go and prepare my next class—”

And he hurried off. “Prepare his class,” Ron sneered after him. “Gone to curl his hair, more like.” Drew chuckled at that.

“Harry, don't do that ever again,” Drew told Harry. “Wait, you actually fall for that?” said Harry, chuckling. ”Both of us did,” said Ron dully.

They let the rest of the Gryffindors draw ahead of them, then darted down a side passage and hurried off toward Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

But just as they were congratulating each other on their brilliant scheme—

“Potter! Weasley! Halliwell! What are you doing?” It was Professor McGonagall, and her mouth was the thinnest of thin lines.

“We were—we were ” Ron stammered. “We were going to—to go and see—” “Hermione,” said Harry. Ron, Drew and Professor McGonagall looked at him.

“We haven’t seen her for ages, Professor,” Harry went on hurriedly, treading on Ron’s foot, “and we thought we’d sneak into the hospital wing, you know, and tell her the Mandrakes are nearly ready and, er, not to worry—” “Please, professor. We missed her so much,” said Drew as he looked at her with his puppy eyes.

Professor McGonagall was still staring at them, and for a moment, Drew thought she was going to give them detentions forever but when she spoke, it was in a strangely croaky voice.

“Of course,” she said, and Drew, amazed, saw a tear glistening in her beady eye. “Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been… I quite understand. Yes, Potter, Halliwell, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you’ve gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission.”

Harry, Drew and Ron walked away, hardly daring to believe that they’d avoided detention. As they turned the corner, they distinctly heard Professor McGonagall blow her nose.

“That,” said Ron fervently, “was the best story you’ve ever come up with.” “Well, I couldn't do it without Drew's good acting,” said Harry proudly and Drew blushed. “Thanks, Harry,”

They had no choice now but to go to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey that they had Professor McGonagall’s permission to visit Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey let them in, but reluctantly. “There’s just no point talking to a Petrified person,” she said, and they had to admit she had a point when they’d taken their seats next to Hermione.

It was plain that Hermione didn’t have the faintest inkling that she had visitors, and that they might just as well tell her bedside cabinet not to worry for all the good it would do.

“Wonder if she did see the attacker, though?” said Ron, looking sadly at Hermione’s rigid face. “Because if he sneaked up on them all, no one’ll ever know…”

Suddenly, Drew felt a light tap on his shoulder. Drew turned around and saw Harry pointed at a piece of paper was scrunched inside Hermione's fist.

Making sure that Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, he pointed this out to Ron too. “Paper!” summoned Drew quietly so that Madam Pomfrey could not hear him. Now, the paper was on Drew's hand.

It was a page torn from a very old library book. Drew smoothed it out eagerly and Ron and Harry leaned close to read it, too.

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents._

_This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken’s egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death._

_Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

And beneath this, a single word had been written, in a hand Drew recognized as Hermione’s. _Pipes_. It was as though somebody had just flicked a light on in his brain.

“Ron, Drew,” Harry breathed. “This is it. This is the answer. The monster in the Chamber’s a basilisk—a giant serpent! That’s why I’ve been hearing that voice all over the place, and nobody else has heard it. It’s because I understand Parseltongue…”

Harry looked up at the beds around him. “The basilisk kills people by looking at them. But no one’s died—because no one looked it straight in the eye. Colin saw it through his camera. The basilisk burned up all the film inside it, but Colin just got Petrified.”

Harry paused and Drew continued for him. “Justin… Justin must’ve seen the basilisk through Nearly Headless Nick! Nick saw the basilisk directly but he couldn’t die again… and Hermione and Peter were found with a mirror next to them. Hermione had just realized the monster was a basilisk. She must have warned the first person she met to look around corners with a mirror first! And Peter pulled out his mirror—and—”

Ron’s jaw had dropped. “And Mrs. Norris?” he whispered eagerly. Drew thought hard, picturing the scene on the night of Halloween.

Then, Harry said slowly, “The water…The flood from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. I bet you Mrs. Norris only saw the reflection…”

Drew scanned the page in his hand eagerly. The more he looked at it, the more it made sense. “‘… _The crowing of the rooster…is fatal to it!_ ’” he read aloud. “And the next thing we know Hagrid’s roosters were killed! The Heir of Slytherin didn’t want one anywhere near the castle once the Chamber was opened! _‘Spiders flee before it!’_ It all make sense!”

“But how’s the basilisk been getting around the place?” said Ron. “A giant snake… Someone would’ve seen…” Harry, however, pointed at the word Hermione had scribbled at the foot of the page.

“Pipes,” he said. “Pipes… Ron, it’s been using the plumbing. I’ve been hearing that voice inside the walls…”

Ron suddenly grabbed Harry’s arm. “The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!” he said hoarsely. “What if it’s a bathroom? What if it’s in—”

“Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,” said Harry and Drew in unison. They sat there, excitement coursing through them, hardly able to believe it.

“This means,” said Harry, “I can’t be the only Parselmouth in the school. The Heir of Slytherin’s one, too. That’s how he’s been controlling the basilisk.”

“What’re we going to do?” said Ron, whose eyes were flashing. “Should we go straight to McGonagall?” “Let’s go to the staff room,” said Harry, jumping up. “She’ll be there in ten minutes. It’s nearly break.”

They ran downstairs. Not wanting to be discovered hanging around in another corridor, they went straight into the deserted staff room.

It was a large, paneled room full of dark, wooden chairs. Harry, Drew and Ron paced around it, too excited to sit down.

But the bell to signal break never came. Instead, echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall’s voice, magically magnified.

“All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please.”

Harry wheeled around to stare at Ron. “Not another attack? Not now?” “What’ll we do?” said Ron, aghast. “Go back to the dormitory?” “No,” said Harry, glancing around.

There was an ugly sort of wardrobe to his left, full of the teachers’ cloaks. “In here. Let’s hear what it’s all about. Then we can tell them what we’ve found out.”

They hid themselves inside it, listening to the rumbling of hundreds of people moving overhead, and the staff room door banging open.

From between the musty folds of the cloaks, they watched the teachers filtering into the room. Some of them were looking puzzled, others downright scared. Then Professor McGonagall arrived.

“It has happened,” she told the silent staff room. “Two students has been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself.”

Professor Flitwick let out a squeal. Professor Sprout clapped her hands over her mouth. Snape gripped the back of a chair very hard and said, “How can you be sure?”

“The Heir of Slytherin,” said Professor McGonagall, who was very white, “left another message. Right underneath the first one. ‘ _Their skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.’_ ”

Professor Flitwick burst into tears. “Who is it?” said Madam Hooch, who had sunk, weak kneed, into a chair. “Which students?” “Ginny Weasley and Dylan Halliwell,” said Professor McGonagall.

Drew covered his mouth with shock and Ron slide silently down onto the wardrobe floor beside him. “We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow,” said Professor McGonagall. “This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said…”

The staff room door banged open again. For one wild moment, Harry was sure it would be Dumbledore. But it was Lockhart, and he was beaming.

“So sorry—dozed off—what have I missed?” He didn’t seem to notice that the other teachers were looking at him with something remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.

“Just the man,” he said. “The very man. A girl and a boy have been snatched by the monster, Lockhart. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last.”

Lockhart blanched. “That’s right, Gilderoy,” chipped in Professor Sprout. “Weren’t you saying just last night that you’ve known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?”

“I—well, I—” sputtered Lockhart. “Yes, didn’t you tell me you were sure you knew what was inside it?” piped up Professor Flitwick.

“D-did I? I don’t recall—” “I certainly remember you saying you were sorry you hadn’t had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested,” said Snape. “Didn’t you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein from the first?”

Lockhart stared around at his stony faced colleagues. “I—I really never—you may have misunderstood—” “We’ll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy,” said Professor McGonagall. “Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We’ll make sure everyone’s out of your way. You’ll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself. A free rein at last.”

Lockhart gazed desperately around him, but nobody came to the rescue. He didn’t look remotely handsome anymore.

His lip was trembling, and in the absence of his usually toothy grin, he looked weak chinned and feeble.

“V-very well,” he said. “I’ll—I’ll be in my office, getting—getting ready.” And he left the room. “Right,” said Professor McGonagall, whose nostrils were flared, “that’s got him out from under our feet. The Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories.”

The teachers rose and left, one by one. It was probably the worst day of Drew’s entire life. He, Harry, Ron, Fred, and George sat together in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, unable to say anything to each other.

Percy wasn’t there. He had gone to send an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then shut himself up in his dormitory.

No afternoon ever lasted as long as that one, nor had Gryffindor Tower ever been so crowded, yet so quiet. Near sunset, Fred and George went up to bed, unable to sit there any longer.

“She knew something,” said Ron, speaking for the first time since they had entered the wardrobe in the staff room. “That’s why she was taken. It wasn’t some stupid thing about Percy at all., She’d found out something about the Chamber of Secrets. That must be why she was—” Ron rubbed his eyes frantically. “I mean, she was a pureblood. There can’t be any other reason.”

“But why did he kidnapped Dylan?” said Drew, sobbing. “I don't know, Drew, but I can tell you that someone will get them back,” assured Harry. “You think so?” said Drew. Harry nodded sympathetically.

Drew could see the sun sinking, blood red, below the skyline. This was the worst he had ever felt. If only there was something they could do. Anything.

“Harry,” said Ron. “D’you really think that they're not—you know—” “Ron! Don't,” said Drew, crying. There's a crack inside Drew's voice.

Now Drew was feeling what his grandmother Piper had felt when she lost he sister Prue.

“D’you know what?” said Ron. “I think we should go and see Lockhart. Tell him what we know. He’s going to try and get into the Chamber. We can tell him where we think it is, and tell him it’s a basilisk in there.”

Because Drew couldn’t think of anything else to do, and because he wanted to be doing something, he agreed.

The Gryffindors around them were so miserable, and felt so sorry for the Weasley and Drew, that nobody tried to stop them as they got up, crossed the room, and left through the portrait hole.

Darkness was falling as they walked down to Lockhart’s office. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on inside it. They could hear scraping, thumps, and hurried footsteps.

Harry knocked and there was a sudden silence from inside. Then the door opened the tiniest crack and they saw one of Lockhart’s eyes peering through it.

“Oh—Mr. Potter—Mr. Weasley—Mr. Halliwell—” he said, opening the door a bit wider. “I’m rather busy at the moment—if you would be quick—”

“Professor, we’ve got some information for you,” said Harry. “We think it’ll help you.” “Er—well—it’s not terribly—” The side of Lockhart’s face that they could see looked very uncomfortable. “I mean—well all right—”

He opened the door and they entered. His office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor.

Robes, jade green, lilac, midnight blue, had been hastily folded into one of them; books were jumbled untidily into the other.

The photographs that had covered the walls were now crammed into boxes on the desk.

“Are you going somewhere?” said Harry. “Er, well, yes,” said Lockhart, ripping a life size poster of himself from the back of the door as he spoke and starting to roll it up. “Urgent call—unavoidable—got to go—”

“What about my sister?” said Ron jerkily. “And my brother!” added Drew furiously. “Well, as to that—most unfortunate—” said Lockhart, avoiding their eyes as he wrenched open a drawer and started emptying the contents into a bag. “No one regrets more than I—”

“You’re the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!” said Harry. “You can’t go now! Not with all the Dark stuff going on here!”

“Well—I must say—when I took the job—” Lockhart muttered, now piling socks on top of his robes. “nothing in the job description—didn’t expect—”

“You mean you’re running away?” said Harry disbelievingly. “After all that stuff you did in your books—” “Books can be misleading,” said Lockhart delicately. “You wrote them!” Harry shouted.

“My dear boy,” said Lockhart, straightening up and frowning at Harry. “Do use your common sense. My books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think I’d done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He’d look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I mean, come on—”

“So you’ve just been taking credit for what a load of other people have done?” said Harry incredulously. “Harry, Harry,” said Lockhart, shaking his head impatiently, “it’s not nearly as simple as that. There was work involved. I had to track these people down. Ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did. Then I had to put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn’t remember doing it. If there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s my Memory Charms. No, it’s been a lot of work, Harry. It’s not all book signings and publicity photos, you know. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long hard slog.”

He banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them. “Let’s see,” he said. “I think that’s everything. Yes. Only one thing left.” He pulled out his wand and turned to them.

“Awfully sorry, boys, but I’ll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can’t have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. I’d never sell another book—”

Harry reached his wand just in time. Lockhart had barely raised his, when Harry bellowed, “Expelliarmus!”

Lockhart was blasted backward, falling over his trunk; his wand flew high into the air; Drew caught it, and set it on fire. A few seconds later, the wand burnt into ashes.

“Shouldn’t have let Professor Snape teach us that one,” said Harry furiously, kicking Lockhart’s trunk aside. Lockhart was looking up at him, feeble once more. Harry was still pointing his wand at him.

“What d’you want me to do?” said Lockhart weakly. “I don’t know where the Chamber of Secrets is. There’s nothing I can do.”

“You’re in luck,” said Harry, forcing Lockhart to his feet at wandpoint. “We think we know where it is. And what’s inside it. Let’s go.”

They marched Lockhart out of his office and down the nearest stairs, along the dark corridor where the messages shone on the wall, to the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

They sent Lockhart in first. Drew was pleased to see that he was shaking. Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said when she saw Harry. “What do you want this time?” “To ask you how you died,” said Harry.

Myrtle’s whole aspect changed at once. Drew thought Myrtle will start crying but instead she was calm.

“Ooooh, it was dreadful,” she said with relish. “It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a boy speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then—” Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. “I died.”

“How?” said Harry. “No idea,” said Myrtle in hushed tones. “I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away…”

She looked dreamily at Harry. “And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she’d ever laughed at my glasses.”

“Where exactly did you see the eyes?” said Harry. “Somewhere there,” said Myrtle, pointing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.

Harry, Drew and Ron hurried over to it. Lockhart was standing well back, a look of utter terror on his face. It looked like an ordinary sink.

They examined every inch of it, inside and out, including the pipes below. And then Harry saw it: Scratched on the side of one of the copper taps was a tiny snake. “That tap’s never worked,” said Myrtle brightly as he tried to turn it.

“Harry,” said Ron. “Say something. Something in Parseltongue.” “But—” Harry thought hard. “I know you can do it, Harry,” said Drew encouragingly.

“Open up,” he said. He looked at Drew, who was smiling encouragely and Ron, who shook his head. “English,” he said. “Try to imagine the snake is alive,”

Harry looked back at the snake, willing himself to believe it was alive. If he moved his head, the candlelight made it look as though it were moving.

This time Drew heard a hiss from Harry. Next second, the sink began to move; the sink, in fact, sank, right out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

Harry and Drew heard Ron gasp and looked up again. He had made up his mind what he was going to do. “I’m going down there,” Harry said. “I will come with you, we will do this together,” said Drew.

They couldn’t not go, not now they had found the entrance to the Chamber, not if there was even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that Ginny and Dylan might be alive.

“Me too,” said Ron. There was a pause. “Well, you hardly seem to need me,” said Lockhart, with a shadow of his old smile. “I’ll just—”

He put his hand on the door knob, but Ron, Drew and Harry pointed their wands at him. “You can go first,” Ron snarled.

White faced and wandless, Lockhart approached the opening. “Boys,” he said, his voice feeble. “Boys, what good will it do?” “Better you than us,” said Drew.

Harry jabbed him in the back with his wand. Lockhart slid his legs into the pipe. “I really don’t think—” he started to say, but Ron gave him a push, and he slid out of sight. Harry and Drew followed quickly. They lowered themselves slowly into the pipe, then let go.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. Drew could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons.

In front of them, there's a scream can be heard. It was Lockhart's; behind him he could hear Ron, thudding slightly at the curves.

And then, just as he had begun to worry about what would happen when he hit the ground, the pipe leveled out, and he shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on Harry, face to face.

Lockhart was getting to his feet a little ways away, covered in slime and white as a ghost.

“Harry, are you ok?” asked Drew as he got up and helped Harry getting up too. “We should really stop falling onto each other.” said Harry. “Agreed,” Harry and Drew stood aside as Ron came whizzing out of the pipe, too.

“We must be miles under the school,” said Harry, his voice echoing in the black tunnel. “Under the lake, probably,” said Ron, squinting around at the dark, slimy walls.

All four of them turned to stare into the darkness ahead. “Lumos!” Harry muttered to his wand and it lit again.

“C’mon,” he said to Ron, Drew and Lockhart, and off they went, their footsteps slapping loudly on the wet floor.

The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little distance ahead. Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wand light.

“Remember,” Harry said quietly as they walked cautiously forward, “any sign of movement, close your eyes right away…”

But the tunnel was quiet as the grave, and the first unexpected sound they heard was a loud crunch as Ron stepped on what turned out to be a rat’s skull.

Harry lowered his wand to look at the floor and Drew saw that it was littered with small animal bones. _'Hang on Dylan, Ginny, we will save you two,'_ Drew thought. Harry led the way forward, around a dark bend in the tunnel.

“Harry—there’s something up there—” said Ron hoarsely, grabbing Harry’s shoulder. They froze, watching.

Drew could just see the outline of something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn’t moving.

“Maybe it’s asleep,” he breathed, glancing back at the other two. Lockhart’s hands were pressed over his eyes. Drew turned back to look at the thing, his heart beating so fast he can't breath properly.

Very slowly, his eyes as narrow as Harry could make them and still see, Harry edged forward, his wand held high.

The light slid over a gigantic snake skin, of a vivid, poisonous green, lying curled and empty across the tunnel floor. The creature that had shed it must have been twenty feet long at least.

“Blimey,” said Ron weakly. There was a sudden movement behind them. Gilderoy Lockhart’s knees had given way. “Get up,” said Ron sharply, pointing his wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart got to his feet—then he dived at Ron, knocking him to the ground. Drew jumped forward, but too late—

Lockhart was straightening up, panting, Ron’s wand in his hand and a gleaming smile back on his face. Then, he grabbed Drew and pointed the wand at Drew's throat.

Drew tried to orb but he cannot focus. “Let him go!” shouted Harry. “Don't move! Or I cast the Memory Charm on him!” Harry listened.

“The adventure ends here, boys!” he said. “I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl and the young Halliwell, and that you three tragically lost your minds at the sight of their mangled body—say good bye to your memories!”

He raised Ron’s Spellotaped wand high over his head and yelled, “Obliviate!”

The wand exploded with the force of a small bomb. Harry grabbed Drew's arm, then flung his arms over his head and ran, slipping over the coils of snake skin, out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the floor.

Next moment, he was standing next to Drew, gazing at a solid wall of broken rock.

“Ron!” Drew and Harry shouted. “Are you okay? Ron!” “I’m here!” came Ron’s muffled voice from behind the rockfall. “I’m okay—this git’s not, though—he got blasted by the wand—”

There was a dull thud and a loud “ow!” It sounded as though Ron had just kicked Lockhart in the shins. “What now?” Ron’s voice said, sounding desperate. “We can’t get through—it’ll take ages…”

Drew looked up at the tunnel ceiling. Huge cracks had appeared in it. He had never tried to break apart anything as large as these rocks by magic including orbing, and now didn’t seem a good moment to try—what if the whole tunnel caved in?

There was another thud and another “ow!” from behind the rocks. They were wasting time. Ginny had already been in the Chamber of Secrets for hours… Harry and Drew knew there was only one thing to do.

“Wait there,” Harry called to Ron. “Wait with Lockhart. I’ll go on… If I’m not back in an hour…”

There was a very pregnant pause. “Drew, you should stay—” “No fucking way, Harry James Potter! I will never leave you inside there alone! What if...you never come out from that place?” said Drew as he started to cry. Harry sighed and wiped off the tear from Drew's face.

“I’ll try and shift some of this rock,” said Ron, who seemed to be trying to keep his voice steady. “So you can—can get back through. And, Harry, Drew—”

“See you in a bit,” said Harry, trying to inject some confidence into his shaking voice.

And they set off alone past the giant snake skin. Soon the distant noise of Ron straining to shift the rocks was gone. The tunnel turned and turned again.

Drew's heart was beating so fast. He could not let his guard down for even one second. He wanted the tunnel to end, yet dreaded what he’d find when it did. And then, at last, as they crept around yet another bend, he saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

Harry and Drew approached, his throat very dry. There was no need to pretend these stone snakes were real; their eyes looked strangely alive.

Then, Harry cleared his throat, and the emerald eyes seemed to flicker. “Hisss,” said Harry faintly. The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry and Drew, shaking from head to foot, held hands and walked inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	15. Tom and Basilisk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Drew saved Dylan and Ginny from the basilisk and Voldermort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

Harry and Drew were standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place.

Their hearts were beating very fast, Harry and Drew stood listening to the chill silence. Could the basilisk be lurking in a shadowy corner, behind a pillar? And where were Ginny and Dylan?

Harry pulled out his wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls.

They kept their eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following them. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, they thought they saw one stir.

“Remember, if you see any movement, close your eyes straight away,” said Harry. “Don't you think I know that?” said Drew. 

Then, as they drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

Harry and Drew had to crane their necks to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkey like, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor.

And between the feet, lay two small, black robed figure with flaming red and dirty-blonde hair.

“Ginny! Dylan!” Harry and Drew muttered, sprinting to them but when they were just about one feet away from them, a force field appeared.

“What the—” “Dylan! Wake up! Dylan!” muttered Drew, throwing an energy ball at the force field. “Ginny—don’t be dead—please don’t be dead—”

Harry flung his wand aside. Their face were white as marble, and as cold, yet their eyes were closed, so they weren’t Petrified.

But then they must be— “Ginny, please wake up,” Harry muttered desperately, trying to break into the force field. “They won’t wake,” said a soft voice.

Harry and Drew jumped and spun around. A tall, black haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching.

He was strangely blurred around the edges. As he got closer, Harry and Drew recgonized him at once.

“Tom—Tom Riddle?” called Harry. Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry’s face. “What d’you mean, they won’t wake?” Harry said desperately. “They're not—they're not—?”

“They're still alive,” said Riddle. “The boy was protecting her,” Harry stared at him and so did Drew. Drew was confused; Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts fifty years ago, yet here he stood, a weird, misty light shining about him, not a day older than sixteen.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry said uncertainly. “A memory,” said Riddle quietly. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

He pointed toward the floor near the statue’s giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry had found in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

For a second, Harry and Drew wondered how it had got there—but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

“You’ve got to help me, Tom,” Harry said, raising Ginny’s head again. “We’ve got to get her out of here. There’s a basilisk… I don’t know where it is, but it could be along any moment… Please, help me.”

Drew felt something wasn't right. Riddle didn’t move. Harry bent to pick up his wand again. But his wand had gone.

“Did you see—?” Harry and Drew looked up. Riddle was still watching Harry—twirling Harry's wand between his long fingers.

“Thanks,” said Harry, stretching out his hand for it. A smile curled the corners of Riddle’s mouth. He continued to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly.

“Listen,” said Harry urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny’s dead weight. “We’ve got to go! If the basilisk comes—”

“It won’t come until it is called,” said Riddle calmly. “Harry, I think—” “What d’you mean?” Harry said. “Look, give me my wand, I might need it—”

Riddle’s smile broadened. “You won’t be needing it,” he said. Harry stared at him. “What d’you mean, I won’t be—?”

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Harry Potter,” said Riddle. “For the chance to see you. To speak to you...and you too, Drew Halliwell.”

“Look,” said Harry, losing patience, “I don’t think you get it. We’re in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later—” “We’re going to talk now,” said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry’s wand.

Harry and Drew stared at him. There was something very funny going on here. “How did Ginny get like this?” he asked slowly.

“Well, that’s an interesting question,” said Riddle pleasantly. “And quite a long story. I suppose the real reason Ginny Weasley’s like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger.”

“What are you talking about?” said Harry. “The diary,” said Riddle. “My diary. Little Ginny’s been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes—how her brothers tease her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how—”

Riddle’s eyes glinted “—how she didn’t think famous, good, great Harry Potter would ever like her, especially when he has a handsome, brave Drew Halliwell as his boyfriend but she couldn't get angry with him since his brother are so nice to her...”

All the time he spoke, Riddle’s eyes never left Harry’s face. There was an almost hungry look in them. “It’s very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven year old girl,” he went on.

“But I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom… I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confide in… It’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket…”

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn’t suit him. It gave Drew the chill, running down his spine. “What happened to them!” shouted Drew darkly.

“If I say it myself, Drew, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted… I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasley. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her…”

“What d’you mean?” said Harry, whose mouth had gone very dry. “Haven’t you guessed yet, Harry Potter?” said Riddle softly. “Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on four Mudbloods, and the Squib’s cat.

“No,” Harry whispered. “You're lying!” “Yes,” said Riddle calmly. “Of course, she didn’t know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries… far more interesting, they became… _Dear Tom_ ,” he recited, watching Harry's and Drew's horrified face, _“I think I’m losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don’t know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can’t remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I’ve got paint all down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I’m pale and I’m not myself. I think he suspects me… There was another attack today and I don’t know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I’m going mad… I think I’m the one attacking everyone, Tom!”_

Harry’s fists were clenched, the nails digging deep into his palms. “So why Dylan is here?” asked Drew darkly, holding his anger.

Riddle laughed. “That pesky Halliwell saw Ginny opened the Chamber of Secrets; I couldn't take any risks so I told her to ' _bring_ ' him down here,”

Drew was now really furious. “It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary,” said Riddle. “But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that’s where you came in, Harry. You found it, and I couldn’t have been more delighted. Of all the people who could have picked it up, it was you, the very person I was most anxious to meet…”

“And why did you want to meet me?” said Harry. Drew stared at Riddle. “Well, you see, Ginny told me all about you, Harry,” said Riddle. “Your whole fascinating history. “

His eyes roved over the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead, and their expression grew hungrier. “I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. So I decided to show you my famous capture of that great oaf, Hagrid, to gain your trust—”

“Hagrid’s my friend,” said Harry, his voice now shaking. “And you framed him, didn’t you? I thought you made a mistake, but—”

Riddle laughed his high laugh again. “It was my word against Hagrid’s, Harry. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student… on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls… but I admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked. I thought someone must realize that Hagrid couldn’t possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It had taken me five whole years to find out everything I could about the Chamber of Secrets and discover the secret entrance… as though Hagrid had the brains, or the power!”

“Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed… Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did…”

“I bet Dumbledore saw right through you,” said Harry, his teeth gritted. “You didn't see that coming, did you? I guess Voldermort is not brilliant after all,” said Drew.

Riddle glared at Drew. “Well, he certainly kept an annoyingly close watch on me after Hagrid was expelled,” said Riddle carelessly. “I knew it wouldn’t be safe to open the Chamber again while I was still at school. But I wasn’t going to waste those long years I’d spent searching for it. I decided to leave behind a diary, preserving my sixteen year old self in its pages, so that one day, with luck, I would be able to lead another in my footsteps, and finish Salazar Slytherin’s noble work.”

“Well, you haven’t finished it,” said Harry triumphantly. “No one’s died this time, not even the cat. In a few hours the Mandrake Draught will be ready and everyone who was Petrified will be all right again—”

“Haven’t I already told you,” said Riddle quietly, “that killing Mudbloods doesn’t matter to me anymore? For many months now, my new target has been—you.”

Harry stared at him. “Over my dead body!” shouted Drew as he conjured a fireball but Riddle muttered something and the fireball turned into ashes.

“Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me, not you. She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who’d been strangling roosters? So the foolish little brat waited until your dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of Slytherin’s heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery—particularly if one of your best friends was attacked. And Ginny had told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue…”

“So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became very boring. But there isn’t much life left in her… She put too much into the diary, into me. Enough to let me leave its pages at last… I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat, fists still clenched. “Well,” said Riddle, smiling pleasantly, “how is it that you a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent—managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?” There was an odd red gleam in his hungry eyes now.

“Why do you care how I escaped?” said Harry slowly. “Voldemort was after your time…” “Voldemort,” said Riddle softly, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter…”

“Heck no,” whispered Drew, looking shocked. He pulled Harry’s wand from his pocket and began to trace it through the air, writing three shimmering words:

**_TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_ **

Then he waved the wand once, and the letters of his name rearranged themselves:

_**I AM LORD VOLDEMORT** _

“You see?” he whispered. “It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father’s name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother’s side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry—I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

Drew rolled his eyes. “You’re not,” he said, his quiet voice full of hatred. “Not what?” snapped Riddle. “Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” said Harry, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you—”

 _'Seriously, Harry! 'Sorry to disappoint you'? He is Voldermort for God's sake,'_ Drew thought.

“—and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days—” The smile had gone from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look.

“Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed. “He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorted. Riddle opened his mouth, but froze.

Music was coming from somewhere. Riddle whirled around to stare down the empty Chamber. The music was growing louder.

It was eerie, spine tingling, unearthly; it lifted the hair on Harry’s scalp and made his heart feel as though it was swelling to twice its normal size.

Then, as the music reached such a pitch that Harry felt it vibrating inside his own ribs, flames erupted at the top of the nearest pillar.

A crimson bird the size of a swan had appeared, piping its weird music to the vaulted ceiling. It had a glittering golden tail as long as a peacock’s and gleaming golden talons, which were gripping a ragged bundle.

A second later, the bird was flying straight at Harry and Drew. It dropped the ragged thing it was carrying at his feet, then landed heavily on his shoulder.

As it folded its great wings, Harry and Drew looked up and saw it had a long, sharp golden beak and a beady black eye.

The bird stopped singing. It sat still and warm next to Harry’s cheek, gazing steadily at Riddle. “That’s a phoenix,” said Riddle, staring shrewdly back at it. “Fawkes?” Harry and Drew breathed. 

“And that—” said Riddle, now eyeing the ragged thing that Fawkes had dropped, “that’s the old school Sorting Hat—” So it was. Patched, frayed, and dirty, the hat lay motionless at Harry’s feet.

Riddle began to laugh again. He laughed so hard that the dark chamber rang with it, as though ten Riddles were laughing at once.

“This is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat! Do you feel brave, Harry Potter? Do you feel safe now, Drew Halliwell? Do you need your boyfriend to protect you?”

They didn’t answer. They might not see what use Fawkes or the Sorting Hat were, but they were no longer alone, and they waited for Riddle to stop laughing with his courage mounting.

“To business, Harry,” said Riddle, still smiling broadly. “Twice—in your past, in my future—we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk,” he added softly, “the longer you stay alive.”

Riddle had his wand. He, Harry, Drew, had Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, neither of which would be much good in a duel.

It looked bad, all right… but the longer Riddle stood there, the more life was dwindling out of Ginny and Dylan…

And in the meantime, Harry and Drew noticed suddenly, Riddle’s outline was becoming clearer, more solid…If it had to be a fight between them and Riddle, better sooner than later.

“No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me,” said Harry abruptly. “I don’t know myself. But I know why you couldn’t kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common Muggle-born mother,” he added, shaking with suppressed rage. “She stopped you killing me. And I’ve seen the real you, I saw you last year. You’re a wreck. You’re barely alive. That’s where all your power got you. You’re in hiding. You’re ugly, you’re foul—”

“Yeah! Look at you! You were handsome, you could've get yourself a girlfriend, a job, a life but now you are ugly as heck!” said Harry.

Riddle’s face contorted. Then he forced it into an awful smile. “So. Your mother died to save you. Yes, that’s a powerful counter charm. I can see now… there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us, after all. Even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself. We even look something alike… But after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That’s all I wanted to know.”

Harry and Drew stood, tense, waiting for Riddle to raise his wand. But Riddle’s twisted smile was widening again.

“Now, Harry, I’m going to teach you a little lesson. Let’s match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter and Drew Halliwell, and the best weapons Dumbledore can give him…”

He cast an amused eye over Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, then walked away. They watched Riddle stop between the high pillars and look up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed.

Harry and Drew wheeled around to look up at the statue, Fawkes swaying on his shoulder. Slytherin’s gigantic stone face was moving.

Horrorstruck, Harry and Drew saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

And something was stirring inside the statue’s mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths. Harry grabbed Drew's hand and backed away until they hit the dark Chamber wall.

“Close your eyes!” shouted Harry. As they shut their eyes tight, Drew heard Harry shouted, “Don’t leave us!”

What is Harry talking about? Is Fawkes leaving? But what chance did a phoenix have against the king of serpents?

Something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Drew felt it shudder—he knew what was happening, he could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiling itself from Slytherin’s mouth. Then he heard Riddle’s hissing voice.

The basilisk was moving toward Harry and Drew; they could hear its heavy body slithering heavily across the dusty floor.

Eyes still tightly shut, Drew felt his hand was being pulled by Harry and he began to run blindly sideways, his hands outstretched, feeling his way—Voldemort was laughing…

Harry tripped and so did Drew. They fell hard onto the stone and tasted blood the serpent was barely feet from them, they could hear it coming.

Eyes still closed, Drew tried to search for Harry using his hands. There was a loud, explosive spitting sound right above him. “Drew! Open your eyes!” shouted Harry loudly.

Drew hesitantly opened his eyes and saw Fawkes was soaring around its head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabers.

Fawkes dived. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake’s tail thrashed, narrowly missing Harry. It turned out that Fawkes had blinded it.

“GO FAWKES!” cheered Drew. “NO!” Drew heard Riddle screaming. “LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM. KILL HIM!”

The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.

“Help me, help me,” Harry said wildly, “someone—anyone!” Luckily, Drew was there to save the day; he orbed Harry to him. “Harry, are you ok?” asked Drew quickly. “I was—”

The snake’s tail whipped across the floor again. Harry and Drew ducked. Something soft hit Harry's face. The basilisk had swept the Sorting Hat into Harry’s arms. Harry seized it.

It was all he had left, his only chance—he rammed it onto his head and threw himself flat onto the floor as the basilisk’s tail swung over him again.

“Harry!” shouted Drew. “KILL THE BOY! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU. SNIFF—SMELL HIM.” shouted Riddle. 

The basilisk’s head was falling, its body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face him. Drew could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow him whole, lined with fangs long as his sword, thin, glittering, venomous…

It lunged blindly. Harry dodged and it hit the Chamber wall. It lunged again, and its forked tongue lashed Harry’s side.

Then, Drew saw Harry raised a sword in both his hands. “Is that a sword?” Drew mumbled shockingly. 

The basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true—Harry threw his whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent’s mouth—

But Drew saw Harry was in pain. His arm was bleeding. Harry fainted and fell to the ground as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.

“Harry!” called Drew but Harry was still out cold. Drew gripped the fang that was spreading poison through Harry's body and wrenched it out of his arm

Drew then put both of his hands above Harry's arm. A shimmer of light came out of his hands. “Harry, just—hang on—” said Drew. “Just a few seconds....”

Drew was trying to heal Harry. “Harry, please, wake up,” Drew tried to remember his moments with Harry, his feelings towards Harry and channelled it to his healing power.

However, after a few seconds, the injury still was in the same condition. “Why it doesn't work—Oh God...” said Drew as he covered his mouth, starting to cry.

He could hear echoing footsteps and then a dark shadow moved in front of him. “He's dead, Drew Halliwell,” said Riddle’s voice above him.

“No, he's not,” cried Drew weakly. “Then why are you crying?” said Riddle with a smile on his face. “Drew Halliwell, now it's your turn to die. After Ginny and that brother of yours die, Lord Voldermort will be fully—alive once again,”

He raised Harry's wand, ready to murder Drew. Then, in a rush of wings, Fawkes had soared back overhead and something fell onto Drew's head—the diary.

For a split second, both Drew and Riddle, wand still raised, stared at it. Then, without thinking, without considering, as though he had meant to do it all along, Drew seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to him and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over Drew’s hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then—

He had gone. Harry’s wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady drip drip of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

Drew noticed his tears were dripping crazily on Harry so he wiped his tear off his face. Drew just watched Harry's pale body. Suddenly, Harry opened his eyes.

“Harry!” cried Drew as he hugged Harry so tight he couldn't breathe. “Harry, I thought—I thought I lost you,” “Drew....” said Harry. “I'm sorry if I scared y—” “Scared? I was traumatised!”

Drew kept crying quietly and Harry gently gave him a kiss. After a few seconds, Harry and Drew pulled themselves up.

Slowly, Harry gathered together his wand and the Sorting Hat, and, with a huge tug, retrieved the glittering sword from the roof of the basilisk’s mouth.

Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. Ginny and Dylan were stirring. As Harry and Drew hurried toward him, they sat up.

Ginny's bemused eyes traveled from the huge form of the dead basilisk, over Harry, in his blood soaked robes, over Drew, who was covered in muck, over to Dylan, who was now hugging his brother, then to the diary in Harry's hand. She drew a great, shuddering gasp and tears began to pour down her face.

“Harry—oh, Harry—I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn’t say it in front of Percy—it was me, Harry—but I—I s-swear I d-didn’t mean to—R-Riddle made me, he t-took me over—I'm sorry, Dylan—for kidnapping you—and—how did you kill that—that thing? W-where’s Riddle? The last thing I r-remember is him coming out of the diary—”

“It’s all right,” said Harry, holding up the diary, and showing Ginny the fang hole, “Riddle’s finished. Look! Him and the basilisk. C’mon, Ginny, let’s get out of here—”

“I’m going to be expelled!” Ginny wept as Harry helped her awkwardly to her feet while Drew helped his brother. “I’ve looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came and n-now I’ll have to leave and—w-what’ll Mum and Dad say?”

Fawkes was waiting for them, hovering in the Chamber entrance. Harry and Drew urged Ginny and Dylan forward; they stepped over the motionless coils of the dead basilisk, through the echoing gloom, and back into the tunnel. Drew heard the stone doors close behind them with a soft hiss.

After a few minutes’ progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Drew’s ears. “Ron!” Harry yelled, speeding up. “Ginny’s okay! I’ve got her!”

They heard Ron give a strangled cheer, and they turned the next bend to see his eager face staring through the sizable gap he had managed to make in the rock fall.

“Ginny!” Ron thrust an arm through the gap in the rock to pull her through first. “You’re alive! I don’t believe it! What happened? How—what—where did that bird come from?” Fawkes had swooped through the gap after Ginny.

“He’s Dumbledore’s,” said Harry, squeezing through himself. “How come you’ve got a sword?” said Ron, gaping at the glittering weapon in Harry’s hand. “It's a very long...long...long story,” said Drew.

“I’ll explain when we get out of here,” said Harry with a sideways glance at Ginny, who was crying harder than ever.

“But—” “Later,” Harry said shortly. Drew was glad Harry didn't tell because it was not a good idea to tell Ron yet who’d been opening the Chamber, not in front of Ginny, anyway. “Where’s Lockhart?”

“Back there,” said Ron, still looking puzzled but jerking his head up the tunnel toward the pipe. “He’s in a bad way. Come and see.”

Led by Fawkes, whose wide scarlet wings emitted a soft golden glow in the darkness, they walked all the way back to the mouth of the pipe. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself.

“His memory’s gone,” said Ron. “The Memory Charm backfired. Hit him instead of us. Hasn’t got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He’s a danger to himself.”

Lockhart peered good naturedly up at them all. “Hello,” he said. “Odd sort of place, this, isn’t it? Do you live here?” “No,” said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe. “Have you thought how we’re going to get back up this?” he said to Ron. “Er—we can orb,” said Drew.

Ron shook his head quickly. Unlike Harry, who had got used to orbing, he hadn't got any experience about it.

However, Fawkes the phoenix had swooped past Harry and was now fluttering in front of him, his beady eyes bright in the dark. He was waving his long golden tail feathers. Harry looked uncertainly at him.

“He looks like he wants you to grab hold…” said Ron, looking perplexed. “But you’re much too heavy for a bird to pull up there—”

“Fawkes,” said Harry, “isn’t an ordinary bird.” He turned quickly to the others. “We’ve got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Dylan's hand. Ron, you hold Ginny's other hand. Professor Lockhart—”

“He means you,” said Ron sharply to Lockhart. “You hold Ron's other hand. Drew you hold your brother's hand—”

Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Drew took hold of the back of Harry’s robes, and Harry reached out and took hold of Fawkes’s strangely hot tail feathers.

An extraordinary lightness seemed to spread through his whole body and the next second, in a rush of wings, they were flying upward through the pipe.

Drew could hear Lockhart dangling below him, saying, “Amazing! Amazing! This is just like magic!” The chill air was whipping through Drew's hair, and before he’d stopped enjoying the ride, it was over—all six of them were hitting the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

Myrtle goggled at them. “You’re alive,” she said blankly to Harry. “There’s no need to sound so disappointed,” he said grimly, wiping flecks of blood and slime off his glasses.

“Oh, well… I’d just been thinking… if you had died, you’d have been welcome to share my toilet,” said Myrtle, blushing silver.

“Urgh!” said Ron as they left the bathroom for the dark, deserted corridor outside. “Harry! I think Myrtle’s grown fond of you! You’ve got competition, Ginny, Drew!” “If she lay a finger on him, I will never let her rest in peace,” said Drew jokingly.

Tears were still flooding silently down Ginny’s face. “Where now?” said Ron, with an anxious look at Ginny. Harry pointed. Fawkes was leading the way, glowing gold along the corridor.

They strode after him, and moments later, found themselves outside Professor McGonagall’s office. Harry knocked and pushed the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drew found out about Peter's secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob

For a moment there was silence as Harry, Drew, Ron, Ginny, Dylan and Lockhart stood in the doorway, covered in muck and slime and (in Harry's and Drew’s case) blood. Then there was a scream.

“Ginny!” It was Mrs. Weasley, who had been sitting crying in front of the fire. She leapt to her feet, closely followed by Mr. Weasley, and both of them flung themselves on their daughter.

“Dylan!” shouted Chris, who was walking back and forth. He hugged him and Drew so tight they couldn't breath. 

Drew, however, was looking past the Weasleys. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the mantelpiece, beaming, next to Professor McGonagall, who was taking great, steadying gasps, clutching her chest.

Fawkes went whooshing past Harry’s ear and settled on Dumbledore’s shoulder, just as Harry, Drew and Ron found themselves being swept into Mrs. Weasleys tight embrace “You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?”

“I think we’d all like to know that,” said Professor McGonagall weakly. Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry, who hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the ruby encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle’s diary.

Then he started telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour he spoke into the rapt silence: He told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he, Drew and Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom…

“Very well,” Professor McGonagall prompted him as he paused, “so you found out where the entrance was—breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add—but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?”

Harry's voice now growing hoarse from all this talking so Drew continued for him. He told them about Fawkes’s timely arrival and about the Sorting Hat giving Harry the sword.

“Harry took the sword and—BAM—the basilisk is dead,” explained Drew modestly. Drew blushed when he was just about to tell them about the crying and everything.

But then he faltered. He had so far avoided mentioning Riddle’s diary—or Ginny. She was standing with her head against Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder, and tears were still coursing silently down her cheeks. What if they expelled her?

Drew thought in panic. Riddle’s diary didn’t work anymore… How could they prove it had been he who’d made her do it all?

Instinctively, Harry and Drew looked at Dumbledore, who smiled faintly, the firelight glancing off his half moon spectacles.

“What interests me most,” said Dumbledore gently, “is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania.”

Relief—warm, sweeping, glorious relief—swept over Drew. “W-what’s that?” said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. “You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny’s not… Ginny hasn’t been… has she?”

“It was this diary,” said Harry quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. “Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen…”

Dumbledore took the diary from Harry and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages.

“Brilliant,” he said softly. “Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.” He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

“Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school… traveled far and wide… sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here.”

“But, Ginny,” said Mrs. Weasley. “What’s our Ginny got to do with—with—him?” “His d-diary!” Ginny sobbed. “I’ve b-been writing in it, and he’s been w-writing back all year—”

“Ginny!” said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you anything. What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain? Why didn’t you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic!”

“I d-didn’t know,” sobbed Ginny. “I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it,”

“What about Dylan?” asked Chris. “I-I kidnapped him,” said Ginny, terrified. “B-but it was an accident, I swear—”

“Miss Weasley and Mr. Dylan Halliwell should go up to the hospital wing right away,” Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. “This has been a terrible ordeal for them. There will be no punishment for Miss Weasley. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.” He strode over to the door and opened it.

“Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up,” he added, twinkling kindly down at them. “You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She’s just giving out Mandrake juice—I daresay the basilisk’s victims will be waking up any moment.”

“Yes!” said Drew, smiling widely. “So Hermione’s okay!” said Ron brightly. “There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny,” said Dumbledore.

Mrs. Weasley led Ginny out, and Mr. Weasley, Chris and Dylan followed, still looking deeply shaken. “You know, Minerva,” Professor Dumbledore said thoughtfully to Professor McGonagall, “I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?”

“Right,” said Professor McGonagall crisply, also moving to the door. “I’ll leave you to deal with Potter, Halliwell and Weasley, shall I?”

“Certainly,” said Dumbledore. She left, and Harry, Drew and Ron gazed uncertainly at Dumbledore. What exactly had Professor McGonagall meant, deal with them? Surely—surely—they weren’t about to be punished?

“I seem to remember telling you three that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules,” said Dumbledore. Ron opened his mouth in horror. “Hmmm, I wasn't expecting this,” said Drew.

Dumbledore smiled at Drew. “Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words,” Dumbledore went on. “You will three receive Special Awards for Services to the School and—let me see—yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor.”

Ron went as brightly pink as Lockhart’s valentine flowers and closed his mouth again. “But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure,” Dumbledore added. “Why so modest, Gilderoy?”

 _'Did we have to talk about him?'_ thought Drew. He had completely forgotten about Lockhart. He turned and saw that Lockhart was standing in a corner of the room, still wearing his vague smile.

When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Ron said quickly, “there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart—”

“Am I a professor?” said Lockhart in mild surprise. “Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?”

“He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired,” Ron explained quietly to Dumbledore. “Dear me,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver mustache quivering. “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!”

“Sword?” said Lockhart dimly. “Haven’t got a sword. That boy has, though.” He pointed at Harry. “He’ll lend you one.”

“Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?” Dumbledore said to Ron. “Aw man, can we just let him be, Professor?” begged Drew, staring at him with his puppy eyes.

But it didn't work this time; Dumbledore chuckled. “Too bad I can't,” said Dumbledore. “And I’d like a few more words with Harry…”

Lockhart ambled out. Ron cast a curious look back at Dumbledore and Harry as he closed the door. “I...will be waiting outside,” said Drew awkwardly. He exited the room and closed the door behind him.

Drew waited outside the room, walking back and forth. He was trying hard not to fall asleep. It's been a tiring night and Drew would kill for sleep. He barely closed his eyes when someone made him jumped.

“Move along, you filthy house-elf!” Drew raised his gaze and saw Lucius Malfoy was heading towards him and cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, it was a house-elf.

Mr. Malfoy stopped his tracks and saw Drew was standing in front of the door, not letting him in. “Move,” said Mr. Malfoy coldly. “Dumbledore is busy, maybe you can meet him later,” said Drew calmly, glaring at Mr. Malfoy. “Move!” said Malfoy sternly as he pushed Drew which made him fell to his feet.

He opened the door violently and almost hit Harry in the face. Drew came in and stood beside Harry. Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. “Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore pleasantly. “Dobby!” called Harry, looking shocked. 'So that's Dobby?'

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoy's shoes.

Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled.

Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

“So!” he said. “You’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts.”

“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard that Arthur Weasleys daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too…Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.”

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury. “So—have you stopped the attacks yet?” he sneered. “Have you caught the culprit?” “We have,” said Dumbledore, with a smile. “Well?” said Mr. Malfoy sharply. “Who is it?”

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.”

He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby. Drew also watched him.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

“I see…” said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore. “A clever plan,” said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. “Because if Harry and Drew here”—Mr. Malfoy shot Harry and Drew a swift, sharp look—“and his friend Ron hadn’t discovered this book, why—Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will…”

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly mask like. “And imagine,” Dumbledore went on, “what might have happened then… The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and—killing Muggle-borns… Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise…”

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak. “Very fortunate,” he said stiffly. And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head.

Harry suddenly understood and so did Drew. Harry nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” said Harry. Lucius Malfoy rounded on him and Drew was looking at him. “How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?” he said.

“Because you gave it to her,” said Harry. “In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you?” He saw Mr. Malfoy’s white hands clench and unclench.

“Prove it,” he hissed. “Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry and Drew. “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…”

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry and Drew distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf. “We’re going, Dobby!”

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. “Professor Dumbledore,” he said hurriedly. “Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?”

“Certainly, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly. “But hurry. The feast, remember…”

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby’s squeals of pain receding around the corner.

Quickly, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.

“Am I just the only one, or Harry might have gone cuckoo?” said Drew half-jokingly and half-curiously. “I'm sure he is up to something,” said Dumbledore, still smiling.

“Professor, can I ask you some questions?”asked Drew. “Of course, anything,” “The question is—er—am I—truly belong in Gryffindor?” asked Drew.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Harry asked me that too,” “Really? Then, what do you say?” asked Drew, looking calm.

“You have to think, Drew. Think. There's a reason that the Sorting Hat considered you to put you in Ravenclaw,” Drew was choked when he said that. “You know?” said Drew dryly. “But how?”

“The Sorting Hat told me,” said Dumbledore simply. “He told me that you and Harry are one of a kind,”

“Harry was lucky to have you become his boyfriend,” “Thanks, sir,” said Drew quietly, blushing.

“Any...other questions?” asked Dumbledore. “Oh yeah, I still haven't figure how Harry is still alive? I tried to heal him but I failed,”

“When Harry was out cold, you said you were crying, am I right?” “Oh—uhh—did I—er—yes,” said Drew shyly. “Well, maybe your tears that healed him,”

Drew was confused. “You got the Phoenix's healing tears, Drew,” said Dumbledore. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“A good one, and that kind of power is as rare as Parseltongue too,” said Dumbledore proudly.

“And there's only four people can do that,” “Which is....” said Drew, waiting for answers. “The all four Founders of Hogwarts themselves; Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin.” Drew's jaw opened wide as a saucer.

“Is there any other questions you want to ask me?” Drew shook his head politely, smiling and excuse himself to leave the room.

When he left the room, the first thing he saw was Mr. Malfoy was pointing his wand at Harry.

Dobby raised a long, threatening finger. “You shall go now,” he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. “You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now.”

With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

“Harry, what happened!” asked Drew curiously. “Harry Potter freed Dobby!” said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb like eyes. “Harry Potter set Dobby free!” “Harry, you got a lot of explaining to do,” said Drew.

“Least I could do, Dobby,” said Harry, grinning. “Just promise never to try and save my life again.” The elf’s ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

“Who is this fine gentleman?” asked Dobby, turning to Drew. “Drew Halliwell, nice to meet you, Dobby,” said Drew cheerfully.

“Harry Potter got a very nice boyfriend,” said Dobby. “Thanks, Dobby.” said Harry as he pulled Drew closer to him which made Drew blush slightly.

“I’ve just got one question, Dobby,” said Harry as Dobby pulled on Harry’s sock with shaking hands. “You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well—”

“It was a clue, sir,” said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. “Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?”

“Right,” said Harry weakly. “Well, we’d better go. There’s a feast, and my friend Hermione should be awake by now…”

Dobby threw his arms around Harry’s middle and hugged him. “Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!” he sobbed. “Farewell, Harry Potter and Drew Halliwell!” And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

Harry and Drew had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night.

Drew didn't which is better; they saw Hermione running toward them, screaming “You solved it! You solved it!” or Justin hurrying over from the Hufflepuff table to wring Harry's hand and apologize endlessly for suspecting him, or Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry, Drew and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle, or his, Harry's and Ron’s six hundreds points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second year running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to tell them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat (“Oh, no!” said Hermione), or Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

“Shame,” said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. “He was starting to grow on me.” “Same,” added Drew.

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences—Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled (“but we’ve had plenty of practice at that anyway,” Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor.

Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again.

A day before they went back to their home, Drew told Peter to meet him in the Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

“Drew, why do you want to see me?” asked Peter as he closed the door behind him. “Oh, nothing really but....”

Drew took a small bottle with a line of spiderweb inside. “I found this on your finger when you were Petrified, can you explain this?”

“Uhhhh—it's just a line—you don't have to—make a big deal out of it—maybe a—” said Peter as Drew gave him the intimidating look.

“Ughh, fine. You have caught me,” “Spit it out,” “Ok, here's the story. I was bitten by a radioactive spider and I found out that I have spider powers, I used it to save people's life—Hermione told me about the basilisk's death stare so I tried to cover its eyes by shooting spiderweb—but—I got Petrified,” Peter kept telling about what his powers can do and he had a nickname which is Spiderman.

“—and yeah, I am the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. I guess that you will tell everyone, right?” said Peter sadly.

Drew looked at Peter for a couple seconds then he said, “Don't worry, your secret is safe with me,” “Really?” Drew nodded quickly. “Thank you, Drew. You are the best friend I ever have,” said Peter as he hugged Drew. 

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Drew, Ron, Hermione, Dylan, Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves.

They made the most of the last few hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays.

They played Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each other by magic.

Harry was getting very good at it and Drew was teaching Ginny and Dylan on how to do it.

They were almost at King’s Cross when Harry remembered something. “Ginny—what did you see Percy doing, that he didn’t want you to tell anyone?” “Oh, that,” said Ginny, giggling. “Well—Percy’s got a girlfriend.”

Fred dropped a stack of books on George’s head. “What?” “It’s that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” said Ginny. “That’s who he was writing to all last summer. He’s been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. You won’t tease him, will you?” she added anxiously.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early. “Definitely not,” said George, sniggering.

The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped. Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione.

“This is called a telephone number,” he told Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in two, and handing it to them. “I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer—he’ll know. I had already gave my phone number to Drew last year. Call me at the Dursleys’, okay? I can’t stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to…”

“Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won’t they?” said Hermione as they got off the train and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. “When they hear what you did this year?”

“Proud?” said Harry. “Are you crazy? All those times I could’ve died, and I didn’t manage it? They’ll be furious…”

“Hey, if it wasn't for me, you would have become dead meat, you know,” said Drew, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Don't be a baby,” teased Harry as he pat Drew's head.

And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like/Kudos= Pro
> 
> Comment=Hacker
> 
> Bookmark=God
> 
> Ignore=Noob
> 
> Hey, if you like my work, go watch this video.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XB3EQrj1maw


End file.
